Confinement
by MizJoely
Summary: Sequel to my story "Solitary", with a great deal of Tegan and various Doctors having A Really Good Time while the Valeyard lurks and schemes.
1. Seven: You've Got A Friend In Me

His head hurt. Not only his head, he discovered when he tried to move it, but his neck, shoulders, back…pretty much his entire body. He allowed the tiniest of groans to escape his lips and opened his eyes.

Tegan was kneeling by his side, peering down at him anxiously. "Doctor? Are you all right? You just sort of keeled over. What happened?"

Just sort of keeled over…that didn't sound right. Hadn't he been attacked by someone? By himself, some future version of himself? Hadn't Tegan also been attacked? Or perhaps…the throbbing in his head eased, but his thoughts remained muddled, unfocused. What had he been thinking? Something about an attack… "My head is definitely not in ideal working order," he announced as he allowed Tegan to help him to a sitting position. "Not in the least. Now. What just happened?"

Tegan was aching to tell him; her throat actually hurt, she strained so mightily to tell him. But the words that came out were the ones the Valeyard had put into her mind. "Like I said, you just sort of keeled over. You were mumbling something just before you came to, something about an attack, but there's been no one here but us. I even checked the proximity alerts and everything seems to be working OK…" She frowned. "As if I could tell," she muttered.

She was amazed at how much like herself she sounded; disconsolate at her inability to really understand the Doctor's machinery, upset and trying to cover it up and knowing she was making a poor job of it. Exactly how she would have sounded had the situation been under her own control.

The Doctor, meanwhile, was facing his own internal struggle. Hadn't he woken up, hadn't Tegan been gone, taken by…by whom? The harder he tried to grasp the memory, the faster it slipped, smoke-like, through his fingers. Something was definitely affecting his thinking processes, something unknown, and he didn't like it. Not one bit. "Did you vanish?" he asked, knowing at once that it was the wrong question.

Tegan's eyebrow rose. "Vanish? No. Not that I remember," she added.

"I woke up…that is, I thought I woke up, and you were gone. You and my future self," he added as memory sharpened into certainty.

"Doctor," she said slowly, carefully, "there's been no one here but the two of us. And you're the one who passed out. In the middle of a sentence."

Lies, lies, all of it lies, all of it flowing smoothly from her lips. All of it designed to cause him to doubt himself, his own vague memories.

All of it designed for the next lie to be more easily believed. "You were sort of mumbling about a bioneural tele-something or other," she added, her voice implying a desire to be helpful. "I think you said membrane, too."

"A bioneural tele…of course! That's it!" He jumped to his feet, face shining with excitement. "It's brilliant!" He started to rush off, only to be stopped by Tegan's hand tugging at his sleeve.

"Where are you going?" she demanded, although she already knew. And the part of the Valeyard that was in her mind exuded smug certainty as well. She ignored that pseudo-emotion as best she could, keeping her eyes focused on the Doctor. Begging him with her own mind not to do what she thought—what she _knew_—he was about to do.

"I have to go to my TARDIS," the Doctor said, just as she'd expected. "There's a certain scientist I have to visit, some research that one of my future selves sent me that could help you."

"One of your future selves? What, sent you a telepathic message or something? I thought you had to be in physical contact for that sort of thing. And why didn't he just come here and bring the solution himself?" Tegan asked. All questions she would have asked if the situation weren't such a farce, even if the Valeyard wasn't whispering them into her mind.

"Because not all of my selves are willing to bend the laws of Time the way others are, apparently," was his impatient response. "This one decided it would be better to just pop the knowledge into my head rather than risk a face-to-face."

"And you're sure it _was_ one of your future selves?" she asked.

He nodded. "Yes, the feel of my own mind is unmistakable," he replied firmly, and Tegan's last hope was dashed. She should have known the Valeyard wouldn't allow her to ask the question if he was worried about the answer. "Although he could have managed a smoother transfer," he muttered, rubbing the top of his head and wincing. "I hate it when it's rushed like that. Still," he added, turning and offering her a reassuring smile, "he got me the information I needed, and that's what counts. I'm off to find you a bioneural telesthetic inhibiting membrane so you can go home again."

"Well, then, you'd best be off." Tegan felt her lips stretch in an eager smile. "If you really think this will work…"

"Oh, it'll work," he said with another reassuring smile as she released her grip on his sleeve. "I can practically guarantee it."

**Two Days Later**

She'd had two days alone, two days spent in bitter internal battle. Two days trying to find ways to free herself from the Valeyard's influence long enough to do what she knew, deep in her heart, was the only thing she could do to stop his plans.

She tried to drown herself, but he forced her out of the water. She tried to climb to the roof of her three-story home in order to throw herself onto the hard concrete surrounding the pool, but he wouldn't let her do more than gaze longingly ground-ward from a second-story window. She couldn't carry the toaster into the spa. She couldn't ride a horse fast and hard enough to throw her.

In short, she couldn't kill herself. But she could rage and scream and cry and smash things all she wanted. The housecleaning 'bots cleaned up after her without comment, as they always cleaned up, as if smashed crockery and shredded oil paintings were part of their normal duties. She could hurt herself in small ways, fingernails digging into skin hard enough to cause bleeding, hair torn out, head bruised and battered from being smashed into walls, but never enough to cause lasting damage. Never too much for the medical 'bots to take care of, never severe enough to cause alarms to go off that would bring one version or the other of the Doctor to appear and find out what was wrong.

Right now, two days after the Doctor's seventh self had left her to "discover" the means of securing her release from the Mara's grip on her mind, she was sitting on the sofa, huddled into the corner, staring at the wall. At nothing. All the ruined pictures had been replaced, the china carefully recycled and mended, the small knickknacks returned to their places on the dust-free shelves, the shredded clothing likewise mended or exact duplicates replicated.

The doorbell chimed, and she felt the Valeyard's interior presence stir alertly. Her face went from brooding to welcoming without any help from her, and she watched listlessly as her body sprang from the sofa and hurried to the front door, as her hand turned the knob and flung it open to greet the Doctor.

As expected, as anticipated and dreaded, it was his seventh self returned, triumphantly reaching for her, swinging her around and planting a noisy kiss on her cheek. "Tegan, come with me to the TARDIS," he announced, eyes shining, as he carefully settled her back onto her own feet. "Time to return you to your life."

She hung back, not needing to feign her discomfort, her wariness, her attempts to act as if fighting hope. "Are you sure? Really, really sure?" she asked.

He nodded firmly. "Absolutely. I've sent Ace off for a visit back home for the nonce. But I'm absolutely certain this will work. Spent weeks checking it out," he added reassuringly. "Almost a month. How long since I left?"

"Only two days," she replied, lips twitching into a semblance of a smile. "But it's been long enough. Show me what you've got." And she held out her hand, and he took it, and led her into his TARDIS.

From there, it was almost exactly a repeat of what had happened to her with the Valeyard, at least as far as the equipment set-up, the tenuous form of the membrane stretched on its metal frame, the warning lights, the need for nudity and no make-up or nail varnish, the stepping through the membrane as it fused itself with her.

A membrane, the Valeyard's voice gloatingly told her, that would do absolutely nothing, since she was already protected by a superior version of the same technology. But one that the Doctor would believe worked exactly as it was supposed to.

They left the TARDIS, which was parked right out in the middle of the front lawn to the obvious annoyance of the grounds keeping robots, and returned to the living room. "So, what's the next step?" she asked as she returned to her original position on the sofa.

"A small test," the Doctor replied, still glowing with triumph. "Perhaps a visit from Ace, hmm? She'd like to meet you."

"The feeling's mutual," Tegan replied promptly. "But not just yet, if you don't mind. I'd like a little time to get used to the idea." She held up her arm, seeming to marvel at the look of it. Exactly as it had looked before, at least to the naked eye. "This still seems like magic, Doc."

"'Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic'," he replied, with the air of repeating a favorite quote. One Tegan didn't recognize, but certainly one that fit the current situation. "How long do you think you'll need?" Obviously he was impatient to get on with things, but it wasn't the Valeyard's intent to allow him to leave without initiating his own plans for the Doctor, and thus it was up to Tegan to drag things out.

"I dunno, give me time to think about it, will you?" she finally asked, half-laughing as she did so and shaking her head. "My head's still spinning."

"Very well," he grumbled, settling himself onto the nearby chair. "Game of chess, then?"

"Oh no, nothing so cerebral as that," she replied as inspiration struck. Inspiration on her own part, or prompted by the Valeyard? She couldn't tell; she only knew that his voice had been whispering for her to find a way to initiate the bodily contact needed for his plan to work. Her eyes had been roaming the room and settled on the corner of the swimming pool she could see from the French doors that opened onto the patio. "Let's go for a swim." At his skeptical look, she summoned up a pleading smile. "Come on, it'll be fun. One last swim together."

"One first swim together as well," he pointed out, but she knew she'd won when he didn't immediately say "no". Her smiled widened, and he sighed and capitulated. As she'd known he would. As she'd hoped, deep inside where she was screaming in denial, he wouldn't. "Fine, very well. One swim. I'll just go fetch a bathing costume from the TARDIS."

"And none of those old-fashioned, covered-up-to-the-chin numbers, either," she called after him. "A proper pair of bathing trunks. Remember, you filtered the artificial sunlight so we can't get burnt, just a lovely coat of tan and no chance of cancer."

He sighed again and waved a hand over his shoulder, and she knew that she'd won that point as well.

As soon as he was out of sight, she pressed a shaking hand to her face and gulped back a sob. It was going to work, exactly as the Valeyard wanted it to, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. With dragging feet, she headed upstairs for the dressing room and the tiniest bikini she could find. She'd never convince this one to sleep with her, nor did the Valeyard even want to try; if she did, he'd become suspicious and her chance would be gone. Gods, how she wished she could ask him, but the words wouldn't even completely form in her mind, let alone escape her lips.

She damned her invisible passenger again, and felt a sharp twinge of pain that forced a cry from her lips. \\_Stop fighting me,\\_ his voice whispered in her mind, and she pressed both hands to her head, partly from the pain still lancing through her mind, partly from despair. "All right, you win," she whispered, and headed directly for the dressing room as the pain eased, but never completely vanished. A warning, and a reminder, that she was no longer her own person, but belonged to the Doctor's greatest enemy: his own future self.

**oOo**

"Very fetching," the Doctor said as Tegan appeared poolside. And it was, a lovely purple number with tiny white horizontal strips and somewhat flimsy looking strings holding each piece of the bikini together. It didn't cover very much of her, but Tegan had always been fairly easy about skin, especially now, when it was just the two of them.

She flashed him a grin and nodded at his own apparel. "Glad to see you actually listened to me for once."

He glanced down at himself, somewhat self-consciously. He was a bit pale, the parts of him that were showing, torso and arms and legs from the knees down. The trunks he'd found covered him almost to the knees, a style that was just coming into fashion during Tegan's home time period—jams, he thought they were called. Sure, they were an eye-popping shade of green, but who was going to see them besides Tegan? No one but some robots that would soon be decommissioned and wouldn't have the ability to care even if they were left running for a thousand more years.

Tegan tugged at his hand. "Come on, let's swim," she urged, then released him and dove neatly into the deep end of the Olympic-sized pool. He executed a fairly clean swan dive and joined her for an hour of frolicking in the cool, blue water.

**oOo**

This was it. It was time. Tegan took a steadying breath, then took the Doctor into an embrace. Initial contact, that's all this was, but the Valeyard's membrane would begin to perform its true function and Tegan could do nothing to stop it. Could do nothing to stop herself from holding the Doctor tightly to her, from speaking the words that popped into her mind: "Doctor, thank you, so much. For everything." _I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,_ her mind chanted in apology, an apology no one but she would ever hear.

He returned the embrace, then gently disentangled himself from her desperate grip. She let him go, allowing him to take her by the hand and lead her to the steps at the shallow end of the pool. From there they moved to the oversized lounge chair and the towels awaiting them. "Swim time's over," the Doctor said firmly, and Tegan simply nodded and accepted the towel he handed her.

When they'd dried themselves off, she dropped down onto the lounge and held out her arms to him. "Hold me before you go?" she asked, and he simply nodded and joined her, lying next to her, arms wrapped around her, her head nestled on his shoulder. Leg to leg, side to side. As much bodily contact as she could manage without implying a desire for sexual intercourse.

Enough contact for the bioneural telesthetic inhibiting membrane that was now an integral part of her to perform the second task it had been created to do. She hoped against hope that it wouldn't work, that the Doctor would prove invulnerable, that the membrane would somehow give itself away, but after fifteen minutes she heard a quiet "ping" inside her mind; she listened in disbelief as she heard an interior computer voice state: _"False memories implanted. Phase I for Subject: Doctor Seven complete. Awaiting implementation of Phase I for additional Doctors."_

Inside her mind, trapped and not nearly as alone as she longed to be, Tegan wept.

**oOo**

The Doctor was gone. The Doctor was coming back, and Tegan would know, once and for all, if the Valeyard had actually done as he promised and blocked other minds from her own.

Right now, she'd give anything for that promise never to have been made, for her never to have met the Doctor's evil alter-ego, future potential self, whatever the bastard wanted to call himself. All she wanted was for things to be back the way they were even a week earlier, with her sensitive to any mind but that of the Doctor and subject to blinding headaches when anyone else came with light-years of her prison planet, if only it meant the Valeyard had never gained his insidious hold on her.

But no, there was the familiar sound of the TARDS materializing, right in front of her on the front lawn, and there was the door opening, and no headache, not so much as a hint as first the Doctor's seventh self and then a young brunette in bicycle shorts and black t-shirt emerged.

This was it. Time to put on her act. Big smile, best foot forward.

She waited until they approached her, offering up that big smile as the Doctor cocked his head inquisitively. "Not a bit of pain so far," she pronounced, then turned her smile on his companion. "It's so nice to finally meet you, Ace," she said, and reached out to clasp the younger woman's hand.

As soon as contact was made, there was the tiniest of electric jolts, as if one of them had built up a static charge…and Tegan knew which one of them it had to be. That Ace felt it too was immediately obvious, and Tegan felt a surge of hope at the other girl's startled expression. "Sorry, guess there's some static electricity in the air," Tegan heard herself apologize, and knew with a sinking heart that the Valeyard had anticipated this exact occurrence.

"No worries," Ace said with a smile. She looked up at the front of the house as she released her grip on Tegan's hand. "Nice place. Looks even better in real life than on the scanner screen."

"Would you like a tour?" Tegan asked, knowing how likely it was that a lively young teenager would want to be shown around some boring old house, no matter how exotic its location.

Ace nodded politely if unenthusiastically, and Tegan threw open the front door and marched them all directly toward the French doors that opened up onto the patio. "Here's the part I think you'll like the best," she said with a smile.

Ace's eyes lit up as she looked saw the pool. "A swimming pool? Super, can I try it? The TARDIS pool isn't nearly as large, can't get any proper laps in," she added with a critical sideways look at the Doctor. Who studiously ignored her.

"Go right ahead," he answered with a wave of his hand. "Tegan has plenty of bathing costumes, and if she doesn't have one that fits you, the TARDIS wardrobe will. We've time for a swim before getting on our way."

While Ace changed, Tegan brooded over the electric charge that had snapped between them…and the computer voice that had echoed through her mind: _"Initial contact with Subject: Ace complete. False memories transferred."_ The Valeyard had said nothing to her about affecting the Doctor's companions as well, and it frightened her; what else about his elaborate plan to bring himself into existence didn't she know?

_A lot,_ she answered herself grimly. _A whole lot._

If it wasn't for the Valeyard's remote-control hold on her external reactions, she would have screamed in frustration as she joined her guests poolside.

**oOo**

Ace and Seven were gone, and Tegan knew it was only hours before the fifth Doctor would make an appearance. Not enough time, not nearly enough time for her to try and find some way to warn him, to give him some kind of a hint that things weren't as peachy as they seemed.

She'd tried to write a message, to leave a recording, only to be betrayed by her own body; any notes she committed to paper, her fingers promptly tore up; any messages she tried to record were foiled by a sudden spasm of her throat, closing the words away inside her mind. The third time she tried and failed to make a recording just saying the Valeyard's name, she found herself screaming in rage and frustration as she hurled her chair into the monitor.

The robots quickly and efficiently cleaned up the mess no matter how much she wanted to beg them not to. So even that proof of her disaffection was gone within minutes.

Frustrated anger was beginning to wear on her, although none of it showed outwardly, at least not yet. She wasn't sleeping well, and lately her stomach was one churning mass of nerves. Under other circumstances she'd wonder if she was pregnant, but a simple medical scan told her that no, of course she wasn't. And thank God for that, since the last time had been when the Valeyard forced himself on her.

She was just fretting herself into illness.

She felt a flutter of hope; if she continued on as she was, eventually she'd start to look less than healthy, and then it was only a matter of time before the Doctor noticed. And what excuse would the Valeyard force her to offer, when she should be happier than she'd been in—God, how long had it been since her illness and isolation? What else _could_ the Doctor blame it on besides her bioneural prison? Then he'd be forced to find a way to remove it…but no. She knew full well it wouldn't work that way. The bloody thing was a part of her, inseparable, seeped deep within skin and bones, nerves and muscles, permeating every organ, every follicle, every cell.

Still, it was a hope. Her health was beginning to be affected by her mental state. The Doctor would notice. She perched nervously on the edge of the sofa and fixed her gaze on the front door.

Soon, Five would walk back into her life, the Doctor she'd spent the most time with, the one who knew her best.

If anyone could tell something was wrong with her, it would be him.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Here it is, my long-awaited (well, by one or two people, I hope) sequel to "Solitary." This story has to be rated "M", there's just no way around it. If you've only read the "T" version here, you might want to check out the "M" version published on A Teaspoon and and Open Mind._

_Many, many thanks to my wonderful beta and co-author, Moonmama, who not only helped with fleshing out various chapters, but also contributed to the Whovian technobabble upon demand and with a great deal of graciousness. Any goof-ups are strictly mine._


	2. Five: Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me

She should have known. She should have known the Valeyard would leave nothing to chance. When the door opened to admit the Doctor, she let forth a violent sneeze. "Sorry," she found herself saying as he continued into the house. "Been fighting a cold."

"Tegan, you know the medical robots could take care of that for you in a heartbeat," he scolded her, taking her by the hand and heading determinedly for the Medical Center on the basement level.

"It's just a cold," she mumbled by way of protest, but allowed him to bring her along. No doubt the sudden onset of symptoms she was experiencing was caused by the Valeyard; the bastard seemed to foresee everything from his cozy little hidey-hole inside her mind. _I hate you,_ she thought with a blast of internally-directed venom, and was rewarded with the ghost of a chuckle as the Doctor, blithely unaware, deposited her in the examination chair.

**oOo**

Five minutes later her incipient symptoms had been dealt with, she'd taken her scolding with a repentant expression on her face, and the Doctor was escorting her back upstairs. She waited until he'd poured them both cups of tea, a blend they both favored, before blurting out what the Valeyard oh so graciously permitted her to say on her own: "I've missed you."

He reached out and brushed gentle fingertips against her cheek. "I've missed you too. But you'll be going home soon, yes? I've finally come to take you away from all this." Behind the lightness of his tone she thought she detected a hint of sadness, although he was careful to keep it from his eyes.

"Not yet," she protested, heart racing. Now was the moment; if anything might upset the Valeyard's plans, this was it. "Not until I've had a chance to say good-bye to the rest of your selves."

The Doctor raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "It's something I've been thinking about for a while now," she said, the lies coming as smoothly as if she'd truly meant every word. "I want to meet your past selves, all of them, and some more of your future selves if I can." The past selves were the key; the Valeyard had given her that much information. In order for his plan to succeed, she needed to infect as many of the Doctor's selves as possible, but the older ones were more important than the more recent ones. She didn't know why and honestly couldn't bring herself to care.

"Why?" the Doctor finally asked, but he didn't sound suspicious, just curious.

She shrugged. "Do I have to have a reason?"

"Actually, yes," he replied, studying her. Obviously trying to gauge her mood. "Not that I mind, of course, but before I send out a telepathic call asking them to come to the end of the universe, I should at least be able to give them a reason why."

Tegan shrugged again, averting her eyes. "I just want to meet them, is all. All of them, past and future. Give them a chance to know me, or at least give me a chance to properly thank you, from start to finish if I can," she clarified.

The Doctor gave her an odd look, half-disbelieving and half-intrigued. "Tegan? Are you intending to _seduce_ all my past and future selves?"

She gave a throaty chuckle, batting her eyes at him in an exaggerated manner. "You mean besides the ones I've already seduced? You make me sound like a wanton woman, Doc!" Dear God, she hated the flirtatiousness of her voice, and willed the Doctor to be put off by her bold request, to see something wrong with her asking it in the first place.

But in this, it seemed, the Valeyard knew his former self better than she did. The Doctor gave her a look that turned her bones to butter and drawled: "Well, a _wanted_ woman."

With an internal sob of frustration, she pressed herself against him, tilting her lips up for a soul-shattering, toe-curling kiss that ended with both of them quite breathless. "And what if I did?" she breathed into his ear. "Want to seduce you. _All_ of you," she added with another wicked smile.

He looked down his nose at her. "Harlot," he growled playfully, pressing his lips to hers for another lingering kiss. When it ended, he said: "I suppose if you did, then I'd have a great many more lovely memories of you in my various arms to mull over when times are tough. But I am man enough to admit to a certain amount of jealousy when it comes to you. After all," he added with something of a pout in his voice, "you were mine first."

"And I'll be yours forever," she promised him, no teasing in voice or eyes now. Just the truth, never mind that the Valeyard had instructed her on this, that he was listening in the back of her mind, monitoring her every word to make sure she gave nothing away she wasn't supposed to. "Even when you've dropped me back on Earth in my own place and time and gone back to wandering the stars." Her voice caught in her throat, but she went on. "Because we both know that's where this ends. Don't we."

Ah, so they were having _that_ conversation. The one he'd hoped, in a cowardly portion of his psyche, to avoid. "Tegan," he began, but she shushed him with a finger pressed to his lips.

"No, don't, say it," she whispered, a glimmer of tears on her eyelashes. She blinked them away and offered up a brave smile. "I know. There's no happily ever after for a Time Lord and a human, I get that. And I could almost thank the Mara for the time we _did_ have together." She shook her head. "No, I take that back. I'd still like to kick that bloody snake's ass from here to kingdom come. But at least we did have time together, and I'll always be grateful for that time, no matter the circumstances that brought us back together. For a _proper_ farewell." Her tremulous smile widened into a smirk. "No formal handshakes and stiff upper lip this time, Doc."

"No, indeed," he murmured, bending his face to hers for another satisfying kiss. He straightened afterwards with a sound very much like a sigh. "Very well. I'll send out a telepathic call and see which of me is willing or able to respond. And when everyone that chooses has had a chance to 'meet' you," he waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and she stuck her tongue out at him in response, "I'll come back and take you home. And it gets to be me, no matter what any of my other selves say," he added, shaking his finger at her in mock severity. "Understood?"

"Right, 'Save The Last Dance For Me,' is that how it is?" Tegan replied, pretending to ponder his conditions. Then she threw her arms around his neck. "Thank you," she whispered into his ear. "Thank you for understanding why I want—why I _need_—to do this."

"Oh, I'm not sure I understand the why of it," he replied, holding her closely. "But I certainly understand that you do want and need." He kissed the top of her head. "I'd best get on it, then."

Her grip on him tightened. "Oh no, you're not getting away that easily," she scolded. "In case something happens and it doesn't end up being you taking me home, I want us to have our farewell now." Her eyes met his, and her slow, lazy smile indicated she definitely was _not_ thinking of a formal handshake and stiff upper lip.

"And if, perchance, I actually do return when and where I say I will?" he asked, answering her smile with one of his own.

She laughed. "Then we'll have a second final farewell. And we'll each have another lovely memory to carry us through."

"There are no rules that say I can't visit you on Earth from time to time," the Doctor said as she reached out and twined her fingers through his preparatory to leading him upstairs. "Especially since the nature of our relationship has, er, evolved beyond what I generally share with my traveling companions. I know I have a history of not looking in on old friends, but you've gone somewhat beyond that category."

"Good to know," Tegan said, keeping her voice noncommittal. The Doctor stopped her, pulling her gently round to face him.

"Tegan, I meant what I said," he said seriously, searching her face and seeing nothing there but a brave attempt at controlling her obvious doubt. "You mean a great deal to me, surely you realize that."

"And I love you," she replied simply, the Valeyard's presence reduced to a mere irritation in the back of her mind as she spoke from her heart. "I always will. No matter if I never see you again or if you come for tea every Sunday like clockwork for the next hundred years." And it was very likely she'd live that long, or even longer, with the slowing of the aging process provided by her second skin. Longer, but not nearly long enough to be with the Doctor forever, the way her heart ached for this to end. Certainly not if the Valeyard had any say in the matter.

He didn't respond, simply tucked her arm tenderly under his as he led her to the stairs. She rested her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes and simply savoring the moment, the Valeyard's presence in her mind still diminished. Whether that was because he was content to let her alone when she was doing what he wanted her to do, or whether she simply found it easier to ignore him when she was doing something she wanted, she neither knew nor cared.

The only thing she wanted to think about was the man holding her so tenderly. She did love him, had loved him for so long, and loved him even more for allowing what he must see as some fairly selfish, not to mention amoral, behavior. Although she wished desperately that he could see through what the Valeyard was forcing her to do, at the same time she welcomed the intimacy they were about to share.

Oblivious to her inner struggle, the Doctor covered Tegan's hand with his own as they walked up the stairs, no urgency to their movement, just two people with deep feelings for one another moving toward an inevitable encounter, comfortable and anticipatory at the same time. When they reached the top of the stairs, she allowed him to open her bedroom door, smiling slightly as he closed it behind them. As if the robots would peek in on them otherwise, poor stupid machines that they were.

Tegan released her hold on him and stepped toward the closet, carefully removing her clothing and hanging her dress back up, sending panties and stockings down the chute to the laundry, neatly lining up her shoes with the dozens of other pairs that filled the floor of the closet. When she finished and turned around, the Doctor was naked as well, his own clothing neatly folded on the dresser, his shoes the only sign of eagerness to be seen in the tidy organization of the room, kicked off and allowed to lay where they landed. He reached out his hands and she came forward to take them in her own, tiptoeing up for a gentle kiss.

He gathered her into his arms, deepening the kiss, allowing himself to become fully aroused by the feel and sight and scent of her, taking two steps backward to reach the foot of Tegan's bed without ever releasing his hold on her. They sat together, lips joined, arms entwined, one of Tegan's legs covering his own as they lay on the downy comforter.

When the kiss ended he raised his head to gaze down at her with a sweet smile curving his lips. "I can never get enough of this," he confessed in a husky whisper.

She reached up with one hand and traced her fingertips across that smile, causing it to deepen, meeting it with a smile of her own as he kissed each finger individually. God, she loved him so much; how could she ever let him go? How could she ever be part of destroying him, turning him into something twisted to the purposes of that bastard, the Valeyard? How could she…but when she opened her mouth, suddenly desperate to say something, do something that would raise his suspicions, the Valeyard's influence swiftly stopped her urges from becoming reality, and she had no choice but to melt back into the moment with nothing more than a silent cry of despair as she reached up and clasped her hands round the Doctor's neck.

"Make love to me," was all she whispered when she was able to speak, and he did, tenderly, sweetly, pressing delicate kisses down her neck, along her breasts, against her midriff, her hips, her thighs…then he made his way upwards again, ending on her lips, lips that opened eagerly to meet his, her legs moving to accommodate him as he eased his way into her, their slow, languid movements hastening into a sweet rhythm that left them both breathless.

She gasped as she felt the heat they'd been so slow to kindle finally boil into a raging conflagration that had only two possible outcomes: either it would burn them, immolate them in its fires, or be quenched into submission as they spiraled ever upwards toward a joined moment of ecstasy.

And when it came, when she lay back, panting with effort, the Doctor's forehead resting on her shoulder, that mechanical, foreign voice whispered inside her head for the third time: _"False memories implanted. Phase I for Subject: Doctor Five complete. Awaiting implementation of Phase I for remaining Doctors."_

Inside her mind, Tegan wept.

**oOo**

"I'll be back for you whenever you're ready." The Doctor kissed Tegan one last time before heading for his TARDIS. "I'll send out the call as soon as I'm back on board, then…leave you to it. As soon as you call me, I'll be here."

"Thank you." She didn't want to let him go for so many reasons, selfish and otherwise, but could do nothing more than wave as he hesitated in the doorway and turned back for a last look. Then he was gone, and she was alone until and if his call was answered, and able to crumple to the floor as her body was convulsed with the sobs the Valeyard finally allowed her.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Here it is, my long-awaited (well, by one or two people, I hope) sequel to "Solitary." This story has to be rated "M", there's just no way around it. If you've only read the "T" version here, you might want to check out the "M" version published on A Teaspoon and and Open Mind._

_Many, many thanks to my wonderful beta and co-author, Moonmama, who not only helped with fleshing out various chapters, but also contributed to the Whovian technobabble upon demand and with a great deal of graciousness. Any goof-ups are strictly mine._


	3. Six: Pent Up Aggression

When the TARDIS materialized and the Doctor stepped out with a young woman next to him, Tegan could feel the Valeyard's anger. He was supposed to come alone, they were _all_ supposed to come alone, not bring companions and tag-alongs until after Tegan had already infected whichever Doctor it happened to be. Yes, it was a bonus if he could have Tegan infect the insipid American as well, but after. _After_ she'd gotten to the moron with the worst taste in clothes of anyone in the universe.

Tegan smiled, inwardly to taunt the invader in her mind, and outwardly to greet her visitors. \\_Guess you don't get to have everything your way after all. Too sodding bad._\\

_\\Do your job\\,_ the voice inside her mind snarled. She would have shivered at the intense anger he directed at her if she could, if she'd had any kind of control over her actions at all. Instead, all she did was turn her smile from the Doctor to his companion. "Hullo, you must be Peri, yes?" She reached out her hand and the other young woman took it automatically, grimacing as the expected burst of energy flared between them and the voice inside Tegan's head confirmed that Peri had been infected. "Sorry about that, there's awful static some days, I think I've set the temp so it's a bit too dry in here. Perhaps the Doctor could fidget it for me."

"Hey, no problem," Peri chirped, her American accent sounding slightly exotic to Tegan's ears. She was staring around in unabashed curiosity. "Wow, this place is great!" She turned sympathetic eyes back to meet Tegan's. "It must have made things a little easier for you."

"A little," Tegan conceded, then offered the tour the other woman so obviously wanted but was too polite to request. It took her mind off her predicament, dealing with pleasantries, showing off the pool and stables and the beach fronting the pseudo-ocean and other amenities, including the garage full of antique racing cars and the hangar with her pair of Cessna single-engine planes.

Peri oohed and aahed over everything while the Doctor trailed behind them, dour and uncommunicative throughout the tour. When they finally made their way back to the house, Tegan realized he wasn't just sulking or brooding, but actually seemed worried. Worried about her intentions, she guessed, as well he should be. He'd arrived as requested, but had made sure to bring along Peri as a sort of human shield, to prevent any chance of intimacy from developing.

Or so he planned. Tegan seethed inwardly as the Valeyard prodded her to make the invitation he'd instructed her in earlier. "Please tell me you'll stay for dinner," she found herself urging when the Doctor mumbled something about heading back to the TARDIS.

Peri was pleased by the invitation and didn't hesitate to accept it. "I'm not bad at putting together a salad," she offered, and Tegan put her to work in the kitchen while she and the Doctor busied themselves setting the table in the small dining room. "Tegan," he said in a low voice when Peri headed out to Tegan's small kitchen garden in order to gather the fresh veg she'd need, "what are you up to?"

She flashed him a teasing smile. "Why do I have to be up to something? Don't take this the wrong way, Doc, but it's nice, having someone around that isn't you, and no headache to pay for it." She stretched luxuriously, noting the quick intake of breath as the thin material of her black tank top revealed every curve of her chest. So he wasn't as impervious as he'd like her to think. "I'm in the mood to celebrate, and you're here, you came when I asked you to, so what's the big deal? Afraid I'll shock your little friend by doing something inappropriate?"

That last bit was pure Tegan, no prompting by the Valeyard needed for that jibe. She would never admit it, but she was jealous of this version of the Doctor's new traveling companion, and seeing that she was a buxom brunette from Tegan's own time period didn't help. No wonder "her" Doctor had never described the girl in any detail; at least Ace was still a child in many ways. No threat to her relationship with the Doctor.

"That's exactly what I'm afraid of," the Doctor said stiffly, and Tegan's teasing smile curled into something dark and seductive as she leaned closer, allowing him a good look down her cleavage. She'd deliberately left off wearing a bra, knowing he was coming today.

"Well, maybe you should have come alone," she breathed, and before he could react, she snaked one arm around his neck and pulled him down for a heated kiss, tongue teasing his lips, fingers toying with the curls on the nape of his neck, her other hand sliding sensuously up his chest and curling into his collar, pulling him even closer.

He returned the kiss for a split second before reason apparently kicked in, causing him to break away from her hold. They stood staring at each other, Tegan's smile triumphant, her eyes promising that this was far from over, his wary and hostile but kindled from somewhere deep inside by a fire she knew she'd aroused.

"Tegan, whatever plans you might have for after dinner, you can put them right out of your mind," he growled. "I've no intention of sleeping with you again. Ever. This is just me coming to say good-bye."

She raised a curious eyebrow at his vehemence; where had all this hostility come from? She thought they'd left things on an amicable note when they last parted company, although she had to admit she'd been left with exactly the impression he was giving her now: sex once, sex never again. Maybe, she thought hopefully, he was getting some kind of subconscious vibe from the Valeyard's unwanted presence in her mind.

Or perhaps he was simply showing his regret at what had happened between them. "Why not?" she asked him bluntly. "Why not sleep with me again? One last time before you and Peri go swanning off together on your jolly little adventures."

Once again, that was her own jealousy speaking, nothing to do with her invisible passenger, who seemed content to let her continue in this provocative manner.

The Doctor pounced on her tone. "Tegan, is that what this is about? Are you jealous of Peri? Feeling threatened, perhaps?"

"What about you?" she demanded, sensing the Valeyard's watchful "eye" on her mind as she spoke, her own will continuing to guide her tongue. "Why can't you admit the real reason you don't want to sleep with me again is because _you're_ jealous of _him_?"

Her angry accusation hung in the air between them for a long moment. Then, as the Doctor drew breath to make a retort, the clatter of the French doors opening warned them of Peri's return. As if they'd rehearsed it, Tegan turned smoothly away from the Doctor and finished laying out the plates while he fumbled for the silver. Oblivious to the tense undertones, Peri returned to the kitchen and hummed happily to herself as she began washing off the tomatoes and carrots and various greens she'd collected.

Dinner was interesting, to put it mildly. The Doctor was moodily quiet, watching Tegan with a wary eye while she in turn completely ignored him, devoting her attention exclusively to Peri. The Valeyard must have approved the strategy; he remained quiescent throughout the meal, not even censoring Tegan's tongue when her TARDIS stories held thinly-veiled barbs designed to discomfit her Time Lord guest. His accusations had stung, as she hoped hers had.

Fortunately, Peri remained oblivious to the tense undercurrents of the conversation, too busy swapping TARDIS adventures with Tegan to pay attention to the way the Doctor was brooding and glowering at his end of the oval dinner table. Who knew; maybe he was like this at all the meals they shared. That thought brought another stab of jealousy to Tegan; this time, the Valeyard ruthlessly tamped it down and kept her busy recalling yet another adventure with the Doctor that led to gales of laughter between the two women.

"Here's to the TARDIS," Peri said at the end of the meal, raising her glass in a spontaneous toast.

"Yeah, here's to the old bucket," Tegan agreed with a laugh—and a wary eye on the Doctor, hoping to see some kind of reaction to her jibe. He simply quirked the corner of his upper lip in an approximation of a smile when he caught her looking at him, raising his own half-full glass—the same glass he'd been nursing the entire meal—in an ironic salute. She made a face at him, then deliberately turned back to Peri, encouraging her to tell another story. "Preferably one that makes the old sourpuss squirm," she added, tossing her head defiantly.

"Oh, there's no end of those," Peri assured her with an impish gleam in her eyes. "But first, maybe—?" She held up her empty glass and wiggled it suggestively.

Tegan stood up with a laugh, the empty bottle in one hand and her own, equally empty glass, in the other. When she passed the Doctor's end of the table, he put a restraining hand on her wrist. "Haven't you had enough?"

Tegan frowned down at him. "Not nearly," she disagreed, tossing her head and turning in appeal to their table-mate. "Right, Peri?"

"Right," Peri agreed, sounding a bit less steady than Tegan but hardly to the point of slurring her words. "We're all grown-ups here, Doc. Even if you're the old man of the party you don't have to act it! It's not like I'm driving. Bring it on, Tegan!"

Tegan ground her teeth as she headed for the wine cooler under the counter near the fridge. "Doc" was _her_ nickname for the Doctor, and she found herself in agreement with the Valeyard's desire to get the stupid cow so drunk she'd eventually pass out. Then all she had to do was work the Doctor's last nerve, and he'd be right where she wanted him.

_\\Where the _Valeyard_ wants him,\\_ she corrected herself hazily. \\_Never forget, this isn't your idea, seducing the Doctor. You're just doing it to infect him because of the Valeyard. No matter how drunk you get, Tegan Elizabeth Jovanka, you can't allow yourself to forget that.\\_

It was a sobering thought, but not so sobering as to actually relieve her of any of the alcohol's effects on her mind and body. She raised the new bottle over her head. "Success!" she called merrily, and Peri clapped and hooted her approval as Tegan went back to the table and presented the bottle and opener to the Doctor, all but daring him to turn her down. "Do the honors, will you? And let us silly humans have our fun."

"Yeah, let us have our fun," Peri echoed. "I wanna see how many glasses it'll take to get you drunk, Doc!"

He turned an icy glare on her that did nothing to diminish her wine-infused good cheer. "Time Lords do not get drunk," he said, but took the bottle and opener and deftly pulled the cork free. Tegan refilled her glass and Peri's and they spent a few minutes making up the most ridiculous toasts they could before collapsing into giggles.

The Doctor shook his head and seemed resigned to putting up with their shenanigans, loosening up enough to remove his, in Peri's words, "god awful" coat and consent to a second glass of wine. When they moved to the living room, Tegan proudly showed off her music console, discovering that Peri had a taste for techno dance music. They danced with each other, giggling the entire time, Tegan able to forget for a while where this all was leading.

After two or three club-beat dance songs, something slow came on. With a glint of mischief, Peri tried to get the Doctor to join them; when he refused, she laughingly turned to Tegan and held out her arms. "Be my partner," she said, and this time there was a definite slur to her words. Tegan undulated over to her and the two women clasped hands, deliberately writhing and shimmying in a way designed to drive any watching heterosexual male wild.

When they turned away from each other and danced back to back, sliding up and down against each other provocatively, Tegan looked directly at the Doctor. He was trying to look patient and unaffected, but she saw his tongue dart out and touch his upper lip. It appeared the sense enhancer she'd slipped him was working as the Valeyard had expected it to. Nothing so obvious as an aphrodisiac; if the Doctor felt himself falling into uncontrollable lust, he'd know something was up and speed up his metabolism in order to absorb it before he could succumb. A sense enhancer, on the other hand, was far more subtle. It had been in his wine glass, an invisible coating that Tegan had prepared well in advance of his arrival.

Peri's glass had been coated as well, but with something designed to lower her tolerance for alcohol. The Valeyard remembered enough about the Doctor's past companions to know how seldom he saw them inebriated, certainly not to the level to which this party had advanced. So his sixth self might find Peri's behavior unusual, but not alarmingly so.

And when she passed out a few minutes after her sensuous dance with Tegan, barely managing to stumble onto the sofa first, all the Doctor did was regard her for a long moment through hooded eyes. Abruptly, he stood up. "I'd better get her back to the TARDIS," he said, keeping his back to Tegan.

She walked up behind him and ran her hands over his shoulders. "Don't leave," she whispered. The music changed to soft Rigellian jazz, and she pressed herself closer to him. "The party's just starting."

She felt the tension in his body, practically heard the denial he was about to utter, and could only find it in herself to be mildly disappointed when he turned in her embrace and took her by the arms. "Tegan," he said in a low growl, "I told you before, I have no intention of sleeping with you again."

She ground her hips against his and smiled an unrepentant smile up at him. "Yeah, well, you know what they say about good intentions, Doc." She reached up and jerked his tie free. "Are you going to tell me to go to hell?"

For a long moment she thought he might do just that; then, with unexpected speed, his grip tightened on her arms and he maneuvered her backwards, toward the dining room table. She felt it press into her backside but never stopped smiling, never stopped looking into his eyes. Oh, he was angry with her; she could practically feel it radiating off him. The moment culminated in a brutal kiss. He forced her mouth open, yanking her close and deliberately grinding his hips against hers, mimicking her earlier movements with a savage intensity that thrilled the most primal part of her even as the rational part of her mind was screaming at him not to allow himself to be manipulated like this.

Everything happened so quickly afterwards that Tegan was never sure which one of them started pulling clothes off first. The kiss deepened, became even more demanding as she hitched one leg around his upper thigh, rubbing her heel against his buttocks. They separated only long enough to complete the process of becoming naked, then she was back against the table while the Doctor's hands roamed her body. She reached for him, but he twisted her arms behind her back. "No," he growled, forcing her around and shoving her facedown on the table. She felt his knee between her legs and realized she'd never been so thoroughly aroused in her life.

_\\That's because I don't need a sense enhancer to influence you, my dear,\\_ the Valeyard whispered into her mind with a nasty chuckle. \\_All I have to do…is _this_.\\_

Tegan nearly shrieked aloud at the sudden explosion of arousal she experienced as the Valeyard's voice in her mind fell silent. It overwhelmed her; any sense of the Valeyard vanished in that cascade of sensation. For the first time since he'd released her from his TARDIS, she could control her own words and actions. For the first time in an eon, she was free. She could do anything she liked.

And, as he'd no doubt anticipated, all she could think about was getting the Doctor to get on with things.

"What are you waiting for?" she heard herself say in her best taunting voice. "Come on, show me what you've got!" She writhed in his hold, not really trying to break free—no, not _wanting_ to break free. Wanting him to do whatever it was he had planned for her, desperate for the feel of him inside her.

With another growl he bent over, one hand slamming down on the table by her shoulder, the other still gripping her hands at the small of her back. She felt his teeth on her ear, not a gentle nibble but a nip of pure passion, and moaned in response.

"Is this what you wanted, Tegan? Really? Is this all you wanted from me?" he asked, his voice low, very nearly a growl. "Just another shag?"

"Yes," she moaned. "God, yes, it's what I need from you…"

"But not the love you want from him, is that right? I'm not him, I'm good enough to screw, but not good enough to love?"

He was furious with her, she realized. Furious and aroused and God knew what else. Instead of shaming her, all that knowledge did was arouse her even further. "You're the same person, inside," she gasped out as another surge of desire coursed over her. She didn't like it rough, she wasn't this person…but tonight, she was. And it wasn't all due to the Valeyard, he was very deliberately staying out of it now. Leaving her to her own devices. "What do you want from me? What do you want me to say?"

"What do I want from you?" he snarled, releasing her and jerking her back to her feet. "I want you to stop this insane plan. Contact him, tell him to take back the call he sent out to the others. We're not your playthings, Tegan, and not all of us will be tempted by what you have to offer."

She smiled and licked her lips, tossing her head defiantly as she scoffed: "You're a fine one to talk." Before he could respond to that taunt, her voice turned serious as she added: "I don't want you for playthings. I just want the memories to take with me when I go back into exile."

That confused him; his expression faltered, the tight lines of his face relaxing just the slightest as he considered her words. She took that moment of hesitation to twist out of his hold and back away from him. "Yes, exile. Because that's what life on Earth is going to be for me, for the rest of my life. Oh, not like this." She waved an arm to indicate her surroundings, tossing her head in dismissal as she did so. "Not exile at the ends of the universe. I'll be with friends and family and everyone else on Earth, with no one in my head, and after being with you and your other selves, probably no one in my bed, either. But I can't travel with you, any of you, especially not him."

She felt tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. "I love him too much, so much it scares me. Yeah, you're safer, because you're different." She lowered her voice, barely speaking above a whisper as she confessed: "You're different, but you're still him. And he's the one I'll always want to be with, and can't."

She didn't know if he understood, and realized she didn't care. She knew what she meant, and that was enough.

Without a word he took her in his arms and kissed her, a gentler kiss than any he'd given her so far this evening, but she nipped at his lower lip and raked her nails down his back, not wanting tenderness. Not from him. He hissed in pain, eyes once again flaring with anger as he gave her what she so obviously wanted from him.

Tegan closed her eyes. She knew, Valeyard or no Valeyard, that she'd never be able to do as this version of the Doctor wanted her to, never be able to ask his fifth self to rescind her request to his other selves. What she'd told him just now had been the truth, a truth she hadn't wanted to admit but a truth nonetheless. She needed these memories to cling to in the certain darkness her life would become once the Valeyard's plan to create himself was fully realized. Even this encounter, violent and angry as it was, would help to armor herself against the approaching darkness.

When she tried to explain that to him, it was too late. The Valeyard was back, clamping her lips shut on a plea for the Doctor to find some way to save her. And once again the mechanical voice in her head was speaking: _"False memories implanted. Phase I for Subject: Doctor Six complete. Awaiting implementation of Phase I for remaining Doctors."_

And once again, she was left weeping inside.

**oOo**

She dragged herself up to her bedroom, not bothering to try and wake Peri to say good-bye, knowing full well that as soon as he re-clothed himself, the Doctor would hoist the other woman into his arms and return her to her room on the TARDIS. Then they would leave her behind, and she was as certain as she'd ever been about anything that she'd never see this version of the Doctor again.

Unless, of course, the Valeyard wanted her to.


	4. Two: Chemistry Lesson

As expected, Six and Peri were gone when Tegan descended to the main level of the house late the next afternoon. She still felt dirty even after a forty-five minute shower, bruised and battered in mind and soul even if the healing sonics blended in with the hot water had already cleansed her body of her aches and pains, the soreness between her legs and the slight headache that had awoken her. Now, all she wanted was a strong cup of coffee, and was heading for the kitchen when the unexpected sound of a sharp rap on the front door brought her up short.

She wasn't ready for another one, not so soon after her violent encounter with Six, and so was relieved to see it was Two arriving on her doorstep. She felt silly, thinking of them by regeneration number rather than "Doctor", but it was the only way she could keep them straight these days. Not that it really mattered, not when she was being forced to manipulate them as coldly as the Valeyard was manipulating her, but still…it was the principle of the thing. They mattered to her even if they mattered only to the Valeyard as tools to ensure his own creation. She could feel his contempt for the Doctor radiating from his invisible presence in her mind, but she would never, ever share the sentiment.

Never.

She smiled and kissed the Doctor's second self on the cheek as he stepped through the front door. "Tegan Jovanka," he pronounced in satisfied tones as he took both her hands in his. "How very nice to see you again. Our last meeting was a bit too fraught with peril for us to try and get to know one another better, hm?"

She grimaced at the thought of that "last meeting". "Well, any place called 'the Death Zone,' Gallifreyan or not, isn't likely to be my first choice of holiday spots," she quipped.

He laughed aloud at her pert tone and allowed her to bring him further into her house. "Very nice," he said as he examined the living room with an approving eye. She walked by his side as he went to the French doors and peered out at the patio and main pool. Swimming; that was most likely how she'd get the flesh-to-flesh contact the Valeyard required of her, as she had with Seven…

"Hm, a swimming pool. I have one somewhere on the TARDIS, but I haven't bothered with it in years," he said, interrupting her thoughts and sinking her plans with his dismissive tone. "Never could see the point of splashing about to no purpose. Or sunbathing, either," he added, apparently spying the lounge chairs she personally put to frequent use.

Well, that was good to know, at least as far as Tegan was concerned. The Valeyard, on the other hand, had other ideas. \\_Spill something on him\\,_ he ordered her. \\_On the both of you. You'd best find a way to get at least his shirt off him. Or else.\\_

_\\Or else what?\\_ Tegan tossed back at him defiantly.

_\\Or else you'll be forced to find a way to render him unconscious, strip him down, and lay your naked body next to his until the memory implantation takes place\\,_ came the nasty reply, along with a visual that set Tegan's stomach roiling: herself, nude, lying next to an equally nude Doctor, blood seeping from a wound on his head but her not allowed to bandage it or summon the medical 'bots until she'd fulfilled her purpose. No, the Valeyard's purpose, even worse.

That was the default plan; if she couldn't get the Doctor to sleep with her—and neither she nor the Valeyard appeared to think that was going to happen this time around—and she couldn't find some other way for the long-term skin-to-skin contact required for the virus or whatever it was inside her mind to seep through the membrane and into the Doctor's skin and from there to his brain, then she was to render the Doctor unconscious and take care of things that way.

She half-hoped she'd be forced to take such drastic measures; surely the Doctor would find it suspicious if he woke up from being knocked out for no apparent reason…but of course, the Valeyard had that angle covered. He'd have some glib explanation ready for her to use, and the Doctor would probably believe her when she was the last person he should be trusting right now.

With that in mind and an aching heart, she strolled up to stand next to her latest visitor. "So, how does pasta sound? I don't know about you, but I'm famished."

**oOo**

"I'm sorry, I'm so clumsy." Tegan brushed futilely at the sticky mess now coating the Doctor's shirt and trousers, then brushed just as uselessly at the pasta sauce covering the front of her own clothing. She stooped to pick up the bowl, only to be stopped by the Doctor's hand on her wrist.

"We'd best get these into the wash, don't you think?" was all he said, spoken mildly but with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes that sent Tegan into a fit of the giggles as she nodded her agreement. When she started to strip off her dress right there, she half-expected him to turn his back or scold her, but all he did was join her in removing his own outer clothing and handing it to her. She took their dripping, soiled clothes and dropped them down the chute leading to what she called the "emergency laundry", knowing the housecleaning robots would immediately get to work cleaning them up.

The Doctor had kicked off his shoes and stood before her clad only in his dark blue boxers and a pair of grey socks; Tegan was wearing only a bra and panties, one of her more subdued pairs in virginal white. They regarded each other for a moment, then both broke out into shouts of laughter.

"Rabbits, Doctor, what a pair we make!" Tegan gasped out after a moment. She took him by the arm as their laughter subsided and led him to the sofa in the next room. "Here, let's get comfortable while our clothes are cleaned," she suggested, hauling the afghan that was draped one corner of the sofa around herself and settling down on the overstuffed cushions. She patted the seat next to her. "Come on, I promise I won't bite."

Still grinning, the Doctor's second self plopped himself down next to her and allowed her to drape the afghan over his shoulders as well. She linked her arm through his again and rested her head on his shoulder. "So, want to watch some telly while we wait? I've loads of shows from any Earth era you'd like," she suggested, turning her face up to meet his with a teasing smile. "The Three Stooges, maybe?"

The Doctor's expression turned less playful, but not quite fully serious as he placed his hand over hers and said gently: "Honestly, my dear, you don't have to work so hard at it. I'd have willingly dropped trou' for you without both of us having to end up covered in marinara sauce."

Tegan heard the Valeyard's burst of gleeful laughter far in the back of her mind, and obediently turned her expression to one of puzzled wariness. "Sorry? I'm not sure I know what you…"

"Now, Tegan, let's not play games," he said chidingly, even as the corners of his eyes crinkled with continued amusement. "I know why you wanted to see my other selves, and although I admit I'm no prize in the looks department in this regeneration, I flatter myself to think you were as interested in an assignation with me as you were with them."

She ducked her head, feeling a blush spread across her cheeks. She'd intended no such thing with this version of the Doctor, assuming he'd be more like Seven, more of an uncle figure than anything else. So much for assumptions. At the Valeyard's prompting, she was forced to pretend that yes, seduction was what she'd intended from the very start.

And to be honest, under other circumstances, were she truly doing what she was purported to be doing, she would be quite happy to sleep with this older, craggier, clownish version of the Doctor. Well, older looking, at any rate; as the Doctor's second self, he was practically a baby in terms of Time Lord age. But he was still the Doctor, and she still loved each and every one of them, and still loathed herself for not being strong enough to give even one of them a hint that things were not as they appeared.

Instead, all she did was tighten her grip on his arm and half open her lips, inviting the kiss she knew he was offering.

They made love afterwards, then nestled together on the sofa, Tegan's head against the Doctor's shoulder, his hands clasping her hips a moment before sliding down to rest against her the curve of her bum. "Well," he said in a tone of immense satisfaction. "That was far more intense than I remember such things to be. Thank you, Tegan."

She looked at him, appearing startled by his words. And was that a flash of unhappiness in her eyes? Gone too quickly for him to decide, replaced by a lopsided smile. "I'm the one who should be thanking you," she said as she leaned her head back on his shoulder and snuggled a little closer.

"Thanking me?" he repeated with a slight frown. "Not at all, happy to oblige. You're a delightful young woman, you know."

"Yes, and you're a delightful old man for indulging my silly whim." She'd almost said "silly human whim", but bit it off at the last moment. No sense raising issues that were hers alone to deal with.

"Nonsense," he chided her gently. "It's been many, many years since I've allowed myself to be this physically close to anyone. So thank you for the opportunity to relive the passions of my youth, and never mind thinking I'm just humoring you. That's the only silly thing about all this, that you'd think so poorly of yourself."

"Oh, I've plenty of reasons to think poorly of myself, Doc, but wanting to have as many of you to myself as I can isn't one of them," she replied, raising herself from her position on his lap. He felt a vague stirring of disappointment as she settled on the sofa next to him, but he put an arm around her shoulders and she leaned her head against his chest once again, so that was all right. "It's selfish and shallow, but I'll never regret it. I just worry that you might think less of me, is all."

"Never," he replied, making his voice as firm as he could. "None of us will. I say that knowing not at all how many of my future selves you'll meet or already know. But I fully believe that none of us will think any less of you for wanting to share yourself with us. And we'll all understand the reasons, or we'll not bother coming; that young man you've fallen in love with is older than I am, remember. Older and hopefully wiser. Certainly wise enough to explain the situation in such a way that we understand exactly why you need this."

Tears sprang from the corners of her eyes, tears of gratitude and love as far as the Doctor was concerned, tears of mingled grief and self-loathing to Tegan's certain knowledge. But her lips were clamped tightly shut on her disavowal, and all she could do was continue to hold him, desperate to cling to the little comfort she found amidst the despair every time one of the Doctor's other selves came to her.

Desperate to ignore that tinny voice in her mind as it once again rang out with mechanical precision. _"False memories implanted. Phase I for Subject: Doctor Two complete. Awaiting implementation of Phase I for remaining Doctors."_


	5. Eight: Things To Come

**Up front thanks and credit to Moonmama for her help not only in betaing this story but her co-authoring of this part, since she is more of an expert on Eight than I'll ever be. Kudos and thanks for everything!**

* * *

><p>Two days later, the next Doctor arrived on her doorstep; this was a Doctor she didn't recognize and so therefore must be someone after Seven.<p>

"Eight," he offered at her tentative, enquiring smile as she allowed him entry. "Number Eight, at your service."

They were of a height. That was the first thing Tegan noticed. No, she corrected herself; she was the same height as him in her three-inch heels. She felt an inward shudder at the way this Doctor was dressed; it reminded her all too vividly of the Valeyard's own chosen clothing style in his current incarnation. She'd labeled it as "semi-Edwardian": Olive green cravat, paisley waistcoat, white shirt with upturned collar, dark velvet jacket, and dark trousers. Even the hair length was so similar that she had to wonder if the Valeyard had deliberately chosen to appear to her in a manner that was sure to disturb her when she saw the original model, so to speak.

From the wordless chuckle that echoed through her mind, the bastard had probably done just that.

_\\Oh, he's one of my favorite past selves, we hardly even have to bother infecting him, my dear,\\_ the Valeyard crooned in her mind. \\_What he does alone ensures my eventual existence more than any actions of the others combined.\\_

When Tegan tried to prod him toward more revelations, he merely retreated from the forefront of her mind, leaving her even more frustrated and anxious than usual. And as usual, unable to express either emotion to the man standing in front of her. All she could do was usher him into her home and pray that somehow, someway, this would be the one Doctor who would figure things out; the one to extract her and all his other selves from this mess of the Valeyard's making.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" she asked, at a loss for once as to how to proceed. She'd been only with others she'd at least met if not interacted with for any length of time; who knew what surprises this version of the Doctor held, outside of his disturbing physical similarity to his evil self? Especially if the Valeyard's insinuations about him held any merit. What could he have possibly done to ensure the Valeyard's eventual existence? If, of course, the bastard was telling the truth and not just lying to torment her.

She wished he had a history of doing so, but unfortunately for her peace of mind, the Valeyard had chosen thus far to be absolutely honest with her. Well, except for his first introduction, of course. And even that had been close to the truth, hell, probably even strictly honest; he and the Doctor were one and the same, once upon a time. He held all the Doctor's memories, all his knowledge, inside his own stolen head.

She gave up trying to figure things out; trying to discern the Valeyard's twisted motives was like trying to understand the Mara. Entities that existed solely as potential without involving her imperfect human self gave her headaches. Literally _and_ figuratively.

"Tea would be lovely, thank you," Eight replied while her thoughts twisted and turned and snaked around themselves. God, she hated snakes, now even more than she had as a child.

She led him into the kitchen. He followed at her heels, glancing around curiously although surely he had enough memories of this place by now to know it by heart…or did he?

It wasn't something she'd thought to ask any of her many visitors, if they each retained the complete memories of their predecessors' visits to her or if regenerative trauma had fuzzied their minds. And if they did retain their memories, then surely they could tell her if any of the earlier models, so to speak, had managed to avoid visiting her. She still hadn't met Three or One, and One was the one the Valeyard most wanted her to ensnare.

"Look familiar?" she finally asked aloud, surprised that the Valeyard was allowing her to satisfy her curiosity.

The Doctor shrugged and half-smiled. "A bit," he admitted. "But not in any great detail. It's amazing what you can forget over 900 years and seven regenerations."

She busied herself for a moment with gathering the tea things, cups and saucers, spoons and sugar and cream and lemon, while the convection boiler efficiently heated the water for her in less than half the time it would have taken her on a regular stove-top. She automatically reached for the blend her own Doctor favored, hesitated, then showed the tin to her latest visitor. He offered a wide smile and nod of approval, then returned to inspecting the kitchen's other features while she steeped the leaves.

He was fidgety, this one, she noticed as he puttered round the room picking up kitchen tools for examination and sticking his head into cupboards. "Dried apricots!" he exclaimed suddenly, a grin on his face as he produced a bag and popped one in his mouth. "Absolutely delicious. You know, I once had the most stupendous plum pudding. It was the year 1906, Christmas Eve in a rather unusual Edwardian mansion. The pudding had apricots so succulent, every bite was a tender, moist, morsel of joy. I've never been able to resist them since."

He continued his exploration of the kitchen until the tea was ready, poking through drawers, accidentally jabbing himself on the tongs and swearing under his breath.

When she'd poured and they'd taken seats at the small table, she groped for something to say, blurting out the first thing that popped into her head. "So, how's the Universe in your time?"

A shadow seemed to cross his face, erasing all traces of the carefree grin she'd seen a moment ago. He stiffened for just a moment before visibly forcing himself back into a more relaxed pose. "Fine," he replied curtly, and she knew he was lying. Why was it she could tell when he was being duplicitous yet none of his selves could see it in her or hear it in her voice? She felt overwhelmed with frustration that she would only be allowed to express once she was alone again.

Big, fat, hairy deal.

"Fine-fine, or fine-you-don't-want-to-talk-about-it-fine?" she persisted, knowing it wasn't a good idea; knowing that the Valeyard only let her do it because it was bound to be Something Bad on the Doctor's mind that she'd inevitably regret pressing him on.

He fidgeted with his cup for a long moment. She was positive he was going to change the subject, but he surprised her by admitting, "The latter, I suppose. But really, it's nothing you need be concerned with. Not your problem."

Tegan gazed back at him with a sardonic smile. "Honestly, Doctor, you know me better than that. You think I'm going to just let it go? When have I ever let anything go? Especially when it comes to you?"

His blank gaze spoke volumes, and she felt her smile falter and vanish under a sudden weight of fear. "Hey," she said softly, trying not to let the fear close her throat. "You do know me, don't you? You remember me, I mean? You've always remembered me before…"

He looked away and cleared his throat before speaking. "Well, of course, it's just that regeneration always takes a bit of a toll on me, memories included. Details, you know. They get a bit…muddled. It's been especially bad in this incarnation."

She wasn't buying it. He was far too uncomfortable; the way his fingers were tightening on the base of the tea cup he held cradled in both hands; the way he wouldn't meet her gaze. Something was fishy, something about that answer felt more like an evasion, but she couldn't precisely put her finger on it. And the Valeyard, now of all times, had decided to let her figure things out on her own, instead of prodding her in the back of her mind with sly insinuations or impatient explanations.

Just like an evil telepathic presence; never around when you really needed it.

"Muddled," she repeated, and Eight offered her a charming grin before taking a sip of his tea.

"Muddled," he agreed firmly, in an obvious "I'm-not-going-to-talk-about-this-anymore" tone. "Unlike this delightful blend, by the way; excellent choice. I must remember to bring some with me when I leave."

It was one of his favorites; every Doctor she'd met so far had chosen it when offered tea, even cantankerous Six. Surely regeneration couldn't fully account for him not recognizing it now?

Or perhaps it could. There was so much she didn't know about regeneration, more than she did know, and it wasn't a subject easily broached. Her one direct experience with it had been chaotic, overwhelming, and the Doctor certainly hadn't been in any shape to allow for an extended Q-and-A afterwards. At least Nyssa had seemed to know what to do besides panic. But then, she'd always had a level head. It was no doubt serving her well in her administrative duties at that floating plague ship she'd elected to remain on when she left the TARDIS.

Tegan wistfully imagined a future in which she could actually visit her friend, a future where she'd have a say in her own actions, but then she locked such thoughts into a box and shoved them far into the back attics of her mind. Nothing was out of the Valeyard's reach even in there, but she wouldn't allow him the satisfaction of pining for something she might never have.

"So, shall we do the Grand Tour?" the Doctor interrupted her thoughts to ask. "Refresh my muddled memories a bit?"

She brought him about the place, biting back a snarky remark about Cook's Tour guide not being her career of choice. She chose to do the outside bits first, watching him carefully for his reactions, looking for anything out of place and mentally throwing her hands up when she realized _anything_ could be out of place with this version of the Doctor and she'd have no idea, none at all.

Still, she managed to keep her growing discomfort under control—her own control, for once, not Valeyard-imposed control. So, apparently he didn't mind if Eight saw her discomfort, which once again led her to suspect there were things she wouldn't like to know about him.

Bugger the Valeyard. Unless he literally forced the questions out of her, she wasn't going to ask them.

They ended the tour up in her studio. His eyes lit up when she opened the door to show it to him; she'd given him no clues as to what the room might hold, wanting to see his initial reaction for herself. "An artist, eh? What fun!" he exclaimed as he strode into the room and did a slow half-spin, taking it all in from skylights to easels.

It was something else about her he didn't remember, apparently. Her heart continued to sink, right down to the points of her bright yellow pumps, which she wore because they matched the equally bright yellow blouse she'd chosen to don today. Cheerful colors that were doing nothing to cheer her up.

"Yes, I suppose that's one of the muddled bits," she replied through clenched teeth.

He looked at her in return, utterly clueless, which only succeeded in unhinging her more. She couldn't stand this any longer. "You used to know that," she accused. "Why don't you remember me? After all we did together, everything we went through – how can you just – forget?"

She regretted the outburst the moment the words were out of her mouth. The Valeyard had permitted it, so clearly he didn't object to her knowing the answer, and she was getting the distinct feeling that he was taking a perverse pleasure in letting her wonder. He was allowing her to ask; yet he didn't care if she didn't ask. Clearly whatever was going on with this Doctor was irrelevant to her current situation and it was the very questions themselves, her own inner struggle he was delighting in.

She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Enough. No more wondering.

But she'd already asked the question, it was already out there and before she could retract it, the Doctor was hurrying to her side. He reached down to take both hands in his and gazed into her eyes with a heartbreaking mixture of sorrow and apology. "Tegan, please, don't be upset with me. I know how disturbing this must be for you; I know my mind isn't right." He gave a sigh. "There've been some...problems with my timeline of late."

She frowned. "What sort of problems?"

He glanced aside and back again. "The past. Certain bits of my history have been erased, that sort of thing."

Her eyes widened in horror. "But why – why would somebody do that to you?" _His past erased._ So that explained it. It wasn't memory loss, exactly. Those events had, quite literally, never happened for him. And yet...he did seem to remember her a little bit. This didn't make sense.

Before she could question him further, he raised a finger to stay her words. "I'll put it right, Tegan. I'm dealing with it, just like I always do. All right?" He gave a tug to her chin, joining their gazes together. God, his eyes were so blue…

A million questions were flooding her mind. Who was doing this to him? If their past had been erased, why could she still remember everything? How was he going to fix it? "But..." she tried to interject the first one on the list.

He cut her off before she got any further. "Trust me, Tegan. I've got – I'm working on a plan. There's no need to get into the whole story here; it's long and involved, and really very dreary." He gave a squeeze to her hand. "Let's not spend this time dwelling on it. We must keep a brave heart, and all that."

That turn of phrase, even if unconsciously spoken on his part, raised her plummeting spirits. Her smile was unforced, the Valeyard's influence faded away as she leaned in to press a grateful kiss on his cheek. "You remember enough," she assured him, her smile turning tremulous.

He tucked her arm through his and insisted she continue the tour. "Leave out no details," he said, but even as she showed him her works in progress—_not_, however, the Mara/Tegan snake that had been her first drawing in exile—she could tell his mind wasn't fully on the moment at hand.

Since they'd already done the gardens and stables and garage and postage-stamp sized air strip and hangar and every other outdoors bit, she was at somewhat of a loss as to what to show him next. Somehow she doubted he'd be enthralled by the sight of her wardrobe room. Maybe the medical facilities? "Well, here's the rest of this floor," she said brusquely as she opened the door into one of the five unused bedrooms that shared the second floor with her studio and own sleeping quarters. Honestly, what had she been thinking when she designed this place, and why hadn't the Doctor stopped her being so unnecessarily extravagant?

To keep her mind off things, she supposed, in both cases. Eight peered into the room, glanced about, made a vaguely approving noise and allowed her to drag him down the hall without bothering with any of the other empty rooms. They were furnished much the same, the housecleaning robots kept them dust-free and swapped out the linens once a month, but unless he was in the mood for a nap there wasn't much to see in the others that he hadn't already seen in one.

She said as much; he "hmmed" in a distracted manner and she turned and pulled her arm free of his, pressing her hand firmly against his chest to stop him. "Not dwelling on it, remember?" she reminded him sternly. "I know looking about a simple house isn't exactly the most enthralling thing in the world for someone who's seen nine-tenths of the known Universe…"

"And quite a few bits of the unknown Universe," he murmured by way of interjection, but she trod roughshod right over his words.

"So? What's going to keep your mind off of things, then?" Tegan demanded his attention with every line of her body, the tightness of her lips as she snapped them shut, the narrowness of her eyes.

Without warning he offered that attention by swooping in to plant a thoroughly enjoyable kiss on her lips.

She groped behind her back for the knob to the door they'd stopped in front of—one of the unused bedrooms was about to be christened, she thought bemusedly as her fingers fumbled their way to their destination.

Because, of course, she was kissing him back, sliding one arm behind his neck and vowing not to remove her pumps until they were both horizontal. She hated to lose any kind of a height advantage, especially one that brought her nose-to-nose with the Doctor.

The bed in this room was a single, the window showing a magnificent view of the house's grounds that neither of them was in a mood to appreciate. They settled on the edge of the bed, arms around one another. Watching his face intently, she took the tip of his middle finger into her mouth and sucked on it, gently at first, then with more force, watching in delight as his expression went from intrigued to aroused to predatory in record time.

In spite of the intensity of his expression, his touch remained gentle as he reached out and stroked her cheek with one hand. He watched her all the while, and it occurred to her that maybe the very fact that he didn't recall much about her, in this case, just might be a good thing. The way he was studying her so closely—everything about her was new to him. This was a man who thrived on new experiences; who sought out adventure and exploration and now she was in a position to offer it to him in a way she couldn't with any of the others.

She allowed him to lay her back against the softness of the silk duvet, watched through heavy-lidded eyes as he deftly removed his shirt and the jacket covering it in one fluid movement. His chest was well defined and hairless, his waist narrow, and she started removing her own clothing as his trousers slipped to the floor in a whisper of cloth.

The Doctor settled down next to her, half-reclining against the mound of pillows at the headboard, reaching up to take her hand in his and pressing a series of kisses on the palm of her hand, slowly, patiently. Tegan sighed and gave herself up to the sheer eroticism of it.

But then she was startled back to reality when she caught a glimpse into his eyes. There was something else there. _Pain_—hopeless desolation. It was gone a moment later, but it left her breathless, even more than she was already, and suddenly his slow, attentive ministrations took on an entirely different feel than that of a patient lover. No, these were the actions of a man who was savoring the moment, almost to the degree of desperation. Every inch of skin he touched, every time he breathed in her scent he was taking in all the nuances, every detail of her and of this time in this moment with a neediness and distress that was his constant shadow.

As if...

_No_, she stopped herself. Here and now; _this_ was what he wanted, it was what she wanted and she'd be damned if she was going to ruin it with speculations as to the whats and whys. This moment was all they had and if it provided him with an escape from his reality—well, wasn't that exactly what she wanted from him, too?

She leaned forward and crushed her lips on his and he responded with equal ferocity, exploring the inside of her mouth with his tongue. His hands gripped her tightly as if holding on for dear life, his chest pressed to hers so close that she could feel both hearts beating rapidly.

They made love with a near frenzy to their actions, and when they were finished, Tegan choked back a sob and drew him down to hold him tightly against herself, so he couldn't see her tears.

**oOo**

"I think we found a good distraction for you," she commented afterwards, when they lay snuggled together beneath the duvet.

He stroked her cheek tenderly. "You offered me quite a lot to be distracted by," he replied with one of his charming half-smiles.

Charm or not, the ever-present shadow was still hanging over him. She poked the tip of his nose, very gently. "It's more than just a few events getting erased from your past, isn't it?" she asked quietly.

His eyes fell shut in silent acknowledgement, giving her all the answer she needed.

"Fate of the Universe?" she asked, trying to lighten the mood, but when he looked at her through eyes suddenly empty of expression, her smile faded. "Fate of the Universe," she whispered again, no longer making it a question.

He nodded anyway. "Something like that."

So much for pillow talk.

She reached for him, pulling him close and savoring the feel of him as he willingly entered her embrace. "I'm sorry if I've been a distraction," she whispered into his ear, feeling that she had to say something, anything to ease the sudden tension she felt in spite of his gentle hold on her.

He sucked in a breath. "A welcome distraction, to be sure. And a helpful one." His gaze turned contemplative as he toyed absently with a lock of her hair. "It's really quite astonishing, sometimes, the way a recuperative break can clear the mind and put things in perspective." Then, as quickly as it had come, his light mood was gone and there was a determined set to his jaw. "I know what I need to do now."

It frightened her, the way his voice rang with dark foreboding. She almost pulled away from him, but then he was all smiles again as he looked down at her upturned face. "Do you know how wonderful you are, you humans, how amazing? Such short life spans, such pugnaciousness and unwillingness to pull together until you have to, but then, oh, the things you accomplish when you do!"

Tegan felt there was an insult in there somewhere, probably unintended, but she decided to be charitable now that he was opening up to her a bit. "Yeah, we're a bit of all right," she said with a deliberately impish grin to match the cheeky bravado of her tone. "Worth keeping around, right?"

"Absolutely." His voice rang with conviction, a dark echo behind it and she felt a shiver work its way up her spine. Somewhere in that single word lay the answer to all the questions she was afraid to ask.

_\\Shall I make you ask them? Shall I force the issue, force you to confront him with your fears? Or shall I leave you in blessed ignorance?\\_

Of all times for the Valeyard to decide to remind her of his presence, this was possibly the worst. \\_Go away!\\_ she thought, making her mental voice as fierce as she could manage. \\_Leave me be for once! Leave _us_ be!\\_

_\\Oh, but it makes such a wonderful bedtime story…\\_ The Valeyard's voice trailed off into a mocking chuckle but he did as she asked—no, as she _begged_ him to—and left her be.

Whatever it was the Doctor had to decide, she had no desire to know what it was.

And he, it seemed, retained his desire not to tell her. He turned his attention to her, raining kisses on her forehead, cheeks, lips, chin, and she reached up and held him to her as tightly as she could manage.

If he considered being here a respite from whatever pressures he was facing, she vowed, she wouldn't be the one to bring discomfort to him, mental or physical.

**oOo**

Eight left her the next day with obvious reluctance, after a second bout of love-making in what she would forever after label "his" room. He'd said he knew what he had to do, had reached some kind of a decision; whether or not she'd actually helped him to that point, she had no idea and no intention of ever asking.

Especially since the Valeyard seemed delighted by the signs of the Doctor's new resolve. Anything that bastard appreciated was automatically suspect. Still, he didn't taunt her with any hints as to what that decision would entail, for which she found herself absurdly grateful. Much as she wanted to know what the decision could possibly be aside from "fate of the Universe," she also feared that answer.

So in the end, all she did kiss Eight good-bye and wish him Godspeed. She watched as he entered the TARDIS, pausing once on the sill and looking back wistfully at her before squaring his shoulders and vanishing into the time machine. The door closed behind him with what Tegan fancied was an air of finality, and he was gone.

Gone, and, like the others before him, infected.


	6. Four: Crazy On A Ship of Fools

As it always did, the sound of someone knocking at the front door startled her; as he always did, the Valeyard's mental presence offered a nasty chuckle at her discomfiture. She ignored him and hurried to open the door, eager to see which Doctor it would be this time, while at the same time dreading the moment she would be forced to do the Valeyard's bidding yet again.

The smile pasted to her face froze; her heart seemed to slow, almost to stop, before speeding up to pound in her chest as if she'd been attempting a four-minute mile on rough terrain. It was him, oh God, no, it couldn't be…but it was. The Doctor's fourth self, broad smile slowly dimming as he took in her distress, the pretty blonde standing by his side already unsmiling and wearing a concerned expression, as if she'd sensed Tegan's distress even before Tegan herself did.

Seeing him was like…she couldn't describe it, not at first. She hadn't expected this, this overwhelming sense of grief, of tragedy unaverted, the rush of memories as she watched, helpless to change anything, while he plummeted to his death. She hadn't anticipated him, she hadn't expected her own reaction to him, none of it.

And when for once she would have welcomed the Valeyard dictating her reactions, he left her strictly alone. Bastard.

A sob tore its way out of her throat, and she made a poor attempt at stifling it by stuffing her fist against her mouth. She swayed a little, backed up an unsteady step, grief and panic overwhelming every conscious thought, till all that remained was the urge to flee, to give cry to pain reawakened, but her feet seemed riveted to the floor, eyes wide and staring as the Doctor moved cautiously toward her. "Tegan? Are you all right? Did I startle you?"

He had to know what a foolish question that was. Certainly the young blonde did; the dark frown she cast his way seemed out of place on so youthful and pretty a face. "Honestly, Doctor, sometimes I think you left your brains on Gallifrey," she scolded before turning to Tegan, her expression softening into something like compassion. "Let me guess, you saw something terrible happen to him, am I right?"

Wordlessly, Tegan nodded. "Regeneration?" Tegan nodded again, choking down another sob.

The blonde smacked him on the arm. "Idiot," she said, then reached out and put a soothing arm around Tegan's shoulders. "There was a reason your Doctor told this one to announce himself before just showing up, I told him that, but he didn't listen, as usual. And so he's given you a shock and you need a little time to recover. I'm Romana, by the way," she interrupted herself to make the introduction. "Romanadvoratrelundar if you want the long, formal version of my name. I'm a Time Lady if you haven't guessed already, and I believe a nice cup of tea will do the trick."

The entire time she'd been talking she'd steered Tegan away from the front door and unerringly toward the kitchen, leaving the Doctor standing there, looking a bit perplexed. Tegan looked over her shoulder once, stifled another sob and turned her eyes resolutely away from him.

Why hadn't she even thought to brace herself for his appearance? Deep down, had she been hoping he wouldn't come, that he'd spare her the agony of reliving his death over again? A death that was still sometime in his future, but so fresh in her memory that she could see every detail, every smallest line around his eyes as he offered reassurance while his body ended its life and transformed itself into his fifth self?

This man had to die in order for "her" Doctor to live, and God in Heaven, she hadn't expected to feel the load of guilt _that_ laid on her soul. She'd had nothing to do with his death, hadn't been its cause in any faintest way, but still, he'd died. And the man she loved above all his other selves had been born in his place.

It didn't help that he was the first Doctor to visit her since her disturbing sojourn with Eight. What she'd needed was someone restful and undemanding, emotionally speaking, maybe one she hadn't met yet or gallant Three or even crotchety One, no matter how fervently she prayed he of all of the Doctors wouldn't put in an appearance.

But no, instead she was face to face with the first Doctor she'd ever met, and the only one she'd watched die. It was almost too much for her to handle, and some clinical part of her mind realized she was in shock. She could tell by the clammy feel of her skin in spite of the prickling of sweat that trickled down the back of her neck; by the slight tremor in her hands, but everything seemed very far away, remote, even the Valeyard reduced to a tickle in the back of her mind. She barely even noticed as Romana placed a cup of tea on the table in front of her, barely felt the slight jolt of electricity that passed between them when the Time Lady covered Tegan's hands with her own and folded them carefully around the cup.

She sipped obediently when Romana urged her to, and the sugary sweetness of the tea helped ease the shell of ice in which she'd suddenly found herself encased. That, and the Valeyard's contemptuous mental voice in her mind. \\_I should have anticipated this sort of weak-willed reaction.\\_

Like a dash of ice-water into her face, his sneering voice brought her back to herself, enough for her to raise a shaky hand to her forehead and offer up a weak, apologetic smile. "Sorry, it's just…I should have prepared myself better, should have realized you'd be coming sooner or later." Her smile faded as she realized she still felt nowhere near capable of dealing with this situation, with seeing the fourth Doctor alive and well in the here and now. "I just…need a few minutes. Please. Excuse me."

She rose from the table and threaded her way through the dining area and living room, bee-lining for the stairs and her bedroom. Once inside, she leaned against the door and drew a shaky breath. The Valeyard had allowed her this moment of retreat, but if she thought it was so she could gather herself in preparation for doing what he wanted her to, she was sadly mistaken.

Instead, apparently, he decided this was the perfect time to torment her.

Unbidden, her memories of the Doctor's final moments arose in her mind's eye, temporarily blinding her to the outside world, crippling her movements, overwhelming her emotions until all she could see was him falling, over and over again, her original feelings of shock and grief all but drowned in her current emotions, the guilt and shame roaring into every crack and crevasse of her soul.

When he finally released her she was left shaking and shivering on the side of the bed, shoulders hunched, tears streaming down her face, a wordless, agonized cry of _\\Why?\\ _reverberating through her mind.

To which the Valeyard coldly replied: \\_Because Romana has been successfully infected and I want her gone. I want her to understand that this must be between you and the Doctor. I want you shaken and upset enough to order her to leave, and for her to believe every word you say when you tell her that. I want the fourth Doctor anxious to ease your anxiety and guilt.\\ _A pause, then, even more chillingly: \\_And because I _can_.\\_

She rose to her feet as the Valeyard put her body into remote-control mode, stumbling down the stairs, brushing her hands against the wall and railing to steady herself. As soon as she reached the main floor, she saw Romana and the Doctor gazing out the French doors, turning as one to face her once they heard her approaching.

Without her willing it, her mouth opened as she turned to stare coldly at Romana. "If you don't mind, I'd very much like to talk to the Doctor. Alone." Then she was back in control of herself, literally if not emotionally, still shaken by what the Valeyard had forced her to relive and the crippling burden of her own emotions.

Romana responded to Tegan's demand with nothing more than a calm nod, as if she'd expected as much. "I'll be in the TARDIS," was all she said, then she was gone, closing the front door quietly behind her, and Tegan was alone with the Doctor, who looked decidedly uncomfortable at the situation.

When he opened his mouth to speak, Tegan cut him off. "Shut it," she snapped. "Me first, you self-centered git. For once, me first."

He appeared startled by her acrimony, then resigned as he settled cautiously into the sofa so they were facing each other. Close enough to touch, but not touching, Tegan huddled into a defensive ball in the corner, Four leaning forward so his elbows rested on his knees while he gazed down at his clasped hands. He was wearing that damned scarf and hat, and suddenly her eyes welled with tears. "Why did you come?" she asked brokenly. "Why did he send the invite out to _you_?"

"Tegan, you _did_ ask him to," the Doctor reminded her gently; so gently that his tone bordered on humoring and she instantly resented it. But before she could protest, he gave a sigh, his manner instantly shifting into conciliatory. "Though I confess that I wanted to come," he admitted. "I was curious."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, the Doctor was curious. What a surprise."

Expression and tone turned impatient. "Really, Tegan, there's no need to be so dramatic. You invited, I responded, and now you're acting as if somehow I should have known what's to happen while you're traveling with me—in my future, let me remind you."

"Because you couldn't be bothered to find out," she cried, stung by the accusation and knowing at the same time that he was right. Which did nothing to stem her rising fury. "So you just show up, Romana in tow, without bothering to find out why your future self would ask you to warn me first."

A brief expression of irritation crossed his face. "I can hardly help it if Romana was with me when I received the call," he pointed out, reasonably enough if she were in a reasonable mood. "And it's not like I could just pop over here whenever I feel like. You must know me well enough to understand that I have…" His voice trailed off, as if he suddenly realized how what he was about to say would sound.

"Responsibilities? More important things to worry about?"

The Doctor winced at the cutting sarcasm in her voice. Good. She hoped it hurt, that he might finally get how much pain his thoughtlessness was causing her. "Yeah, I understand. The Universe comes first, accidental passengers second. I understand that what _you're_ interested in, what _you_ want to do, is always more important than what we poor tag-alongs want or need."

The words spilled out of her, no prompting by the Valeyard necessary. When the Doctor tried to protest, she ignored him, carried on the torrent of guilt and anger, inwardly as well as outwardly-directed. "Did it not even occur to you, even for the tiniest second in that scatter-brain of yours, that there was a really, really good reason for me needing to be warned? That my feelings counted for something, that what I might want or need mattered? Or did you just blithely assume it would be a lovely surprise, for me to see you _before you've ever even met me?_"

The last words came out an anguished cry. That was the crux of the matter; she was loaded down with guilt and horror from her memories of their last parting, and for him it hadn't even happened yet. Wouldn't happen for some time, since he wasn't even traveling with Adric and Nyssa yet.

Adric. Oh, he had no idea what would happen to the young boy he'd taken on board the TARDIS, how he would die not so very long after his own death. She was so caught up in her own hurt and misery that all she wanted to do was throw that in his face, but for some reason the Valeyard wouldn't allow it. Infecting the Doctor's various selves with false memories was all right, but giving him foreknowledge of terrible events wasn't? It made no sense, but she let it go. Either her invisible passenger would explain it to her or he wouldn't.

It didn't matter, not now. She let it go, just as she let go of any vestige of control over herself and collapsed into a sobbing heap, face in hands, body curled even tighter upon itself, ears filled with a subdued roar that covered even the sound of her own weeping.

The Doctor must have moved toward her at some point; she dimly felt the sensation of someone patting her awkwardly on the shoulder, then suddenly she was in his arms, climbing onto his lap like a child seeking comfort from an out-of-his depth uncle. Out of his depth, but well-intentioned.

She curled up like that hypothetical child, sobbing helplessly into his chest, hands clenching the lapels of his jacket as if she would be torn away if she loosened her hold even the slightest bit. She sobbed not only from the guilt and anger but also because, for the very first time, the Valeyard wasn't stopping her from doing so, wasn't forcing her to wait until she was alone to vent her frustration, her fear and anger, but was actually allowing her release when the Doctor was available to comfort her, to try in his clumsy way to be there for her, if only for the moment.

When the storm of tears finally passed into the occasional hiccupping sob, she dried her face on the edge of his scarf and looked up into his eyes—brown this time—trying to see what effect her tantrum had had on him. If any.

His expression was somewhere between bemused and concerned. Or perhaps patient and remote? She couldn't tell. Sympathy had to be in there somewhere, else he'd have set her off his lap as soon as she stopped crying.

"I must look a proper sight," was all she could think to say, her voice hoarse and scratchy in the aftermath of the storm.

Unexpectedly he smiled, tipping her chin up in one hand in order to give her a searching gaze. "No more of a sight than any other woman who's just had a good cry," he pronounced, wiping the end of her nose with a handkerchief produced from one of his coat's many pockets.

That brought a tremulous smile to her own lips as she took the hanky from him in order to do a proper job of it. She remained on his lap, stubbornly refusing to move unless he made her. He shifted a bit beneath her weight and she thought that the moment had come, but all he did was reach into yet another pocket and remove a small, white paper bag. "Jelly baby?" he asked, offering it to her as if she really were the small child she felt like.

Her smile broadened as she nodded and reached into the bag to take one of the sweets. Popping it into her mouth and chewing thoughtfully, she leaned her head against his shoulder and nestled against him. He put both arms around her this time and held her close. "Feeling better?"

"Loads," she replied.

"So, about this death of mine," he said after a brief silence. "Do tell me I don't bleed all over my scarf or lose my hat. Or have convulsions, they're so terribly embarrassing."

That did it. The laugh burst from her lips as if propelled by rocket fuel, and once it escaped, more followed until she was gasping for breath and wiping tears from her eyes that had nothing to do with guilt and self-pity and everything to do with a profound sense of relief. _This_ was the Doctor she remembered; the man he was and always had been, divorced in her mind cleanly from the happenstance of his death, living and breathing and by her side. It was wonderful, almost a miracle, and one she intended to take full advantage of.

When she could speak again, the first question out of her mouth startled her as much as it seemed to startle the Doctor. "So. Is Romana likely to interrupt us any time soon?" When he shook his head, she reached up and ran her fingers lightly along his jawline. "Then, hats off, Doc," she whispered in his ear, reaching up to whip said article of clothing from his head and send it sailing to the floor.

"Tegan, what are you doing?" the Doctor asked, a definite note of alarm in his voice.

She straddled him, knees on either side of his thighs, as she reached for his waistcoat and started unbuttoning it. "Making a good memory," she replied matter-of-factly, raising innocent eyes to meet his. "That is why you came here, right? You got _all_ of the message my Doctor sent out?"

"Er, yes, of course, but I thought, well, after all this," he waved a vague arm over his head. "Well, I thought…"

"What, that I'd changed my mind?" She shook her head and started on the buttons to his shirt. With a frown, she pushed the oversized scarf up and over his head, hearing it thump to the floor. "How do you manage to move as fast as you do with all that weight on your neck?"

He grasped her wrist in his as she returned her attention to his shirt buttons. "Tegan," he admonished her. "Do you think this is the proper time?"

She sat back on her heels and studied him. "Are you really turning me down?" she asked softly, not fighting his hold on her wrist, resting her free hand on her thigh.

She thought he would, she really did. She worried that the Valeyard would force her into bashing him over the head as he'd threatened to do with Two, but then the Doctor sighed, and with that sigh she read capitulation. "Of course not," he replied, bringing her fingers to his lips for a gentle kiss. "But perhaps we could…" He glanced toward the staircase, and Tegan nodded, sliding off his lap but allowing him to retain her hand as she brought him up to one of the unused bedrooms.

She glanced inside to make sure the bed would be adequate for his lanky height, then pulled him with her and shut the door when she saw this room held the cherry sleigh bed she'd designed after the one in her grandfather's guest room. The rest of the furniture matched, polished to a high sheen by the ever-busy cleaning bots. The comforter was a patchwork quilt in soft greens and golds, a starburst pattern in the center with matching covers on the top two pillows. A rag rug adorned the floor on either side of the bed and the curtains were gauzy sheers. Very homey, very comfortable.

The Doctor actually murmured something very like that as he stood in the door behind her. She smiled up at him, reached out and took his hand, leading him where he seemed only slightly reluctant to follow. It wasn't only her fear of how the Valeyard would force her to handle things if she didn't cooperate that made her so determined to see this through. Sex could be a lot of things, but in this case it was its healing properties she was hoping to invoke.

When he balked at the foot of the bed, however, she decided she'd had enough. Hands on hips, glaring up at him, she snapped: "Hell's teeth, Doctor! You act like I'm dragging you off to be executed! Surely you don't find me that distasteful!"

The Doctor's expression changed from mildly worried to indignant in a flash. "Distasteful? Certainly not! It's just…" His voice trailed off.

"Just what?" Tegan demanded when a long moment passed in which he seemed more than reluctant to voice whatever reservation he might have.

He reached up to scratch the back of his neck, eyes aside as if suddenly unable to meet her gaze. "Well, I, er, do seem to recall you've met my second self, yes?"

She nodded, smiling reminiscently at the memory. "Oh, yes," she replied, then her smile vanished and she stared at him incredulously as it occurred to her what might be worrying him. "Doctor, you don't think I'd be _comparing_ the two of you, do I?" Her grin reappeared, along with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "He was rather grand, come to think of it. Worried you won't measure up?"

He retreated behind a mask of wounded dignity, although a faint flush stained his cheeks. "I seem to recall him being rather smug about his, er, attributes at the time."

Tegan sighed and shook her head. "Honestly, Doc, you never fail to amaze me. I've never once compared any of you to the others…" Well, except during her shouting match with Six, but he wasn't to know about that. "And I'd never have expected you to worry about such a thing. Remember, size doesn't matter."

Yes, he was definitely blushing, cheeks burning a bright red, but there was a relieved twinkle in his eyes as he peeked at her from under the fringe of curls that had fallen onto his forehead. "You promise? You won't be, erm, measuring? It's always so hard to know what you humans are thinking."

Tegan stepped forward and placed her hands flat on his chest. Gazing up at him with as much sincerity as she could muster, she said: "No. I won't be measuring. Or comparing. Or thinking about being with anyone else but you. As long as you promise to do the same."

"That, I think I can manage," he replied softly, bending down to kiss her.

When the kiss ended, she discovered that he'd unhooked her bra through her blouse, and unzipped her skirt as well. She pulled her loose cotton top over her head while he divested himself of coat, waistcoat and shirt, sitting on the edge of the bed to remove his boots.

Once clothing had been taken care of, Tegan made sure to give him a long, measuring look before once again meeting his eyes. "You've nothing to fret over, Doctor," she said in a firm, no-nonsense tone of voice.

"And neither have you," he replied, pulling her against him for another kiss, this one much more intense than the first. Scorching, even.

When the edge had been reached and passed and they lay gasping and sweating on the other side, the Doctor recovering first, of course, Tegan reached up and tousled his mop of unruly curls. "That was wonderful," she said, in all sincerity.

His return smile was a little shy. "So it was."

Tegan remained in the bed, watching as he pulled his clothing back on, muttering when he couldn't find one boot—it had been kicked under the bed—then leaning over to kiss her forehead. "Should I stay for a bit?" he asked as he straightened.

She shook her head and smiled up at him. "No. You'd better get going before Romana comes looking for you."

"Oh, I trust her discretion," he replied dismissively, then seemed to think better of his words. "Well, perhaps not her curiosity," he added with a slight frown. "I can wait until you've dressed, if you want to say good-bye to her."

Tegan shook her head, then leaned back against the pillow and deliberately wormed her way deeper beneath the covers. "No," she said with a yawn that was only half for show. "I could use a nap. You've managed to wear me out quite nicely, thank you."

She'd been hoping to make him blush again, but apparently he was past that now since all he did was grin his cheerful-lunatic grin at her as he shrugged into his overcoat. "Very well, then, I suppose I'll be off."

But he continued to linger, looking down at her with an inscrutable look in his eyes for a long pair of minutes. Tegan bit her tongue and waited for him to say whatever it was he wanted to say, then scooted over when he sat abruptly on the edge of the bed and reached under the covers to take her hand in his. "What?" she asked, unable to keep a defensive edge from creeping into her tone. She sensed some kind of a scolding in the offing but wasn't sure why.

"Tegan, whatever it is, however it comes, you know it works out. You were there, you've met my next self and even some of the ones who come after, yes?"

She nodded, not sure where he was going but willing to wait for him to get to the point.

"So try and remember that, the good parts that come after, as well as the times before. Try not to dwell on that one terrible moment," he continued, his voice softening but his eyes boring into hers with inhuman, almost hypnotic, intensity. "Can you do that for me?"

Tegan nodded. "For you, I can do anything," she said simply, and the twinkle returned to his eyes as he pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek and said his final good-byes.

She listened as he tramped down the stairs; he'd left the bedroom door open on her say-so. She heard the front door open and close, and he was gone, another Doctor infected and her once again helpless to stop any of it.

For once, however, she didn't feel like crying. \\_Try not to dwell on that one terrible moment\\,_ he'd said, and it was advice well worth having. She half-expected the Valeyard to make some withering remark or even reignite her memories as he had earlier, but he remained silent, leaving her in relative peace as she felt sleep stealing over her.

For the first time in a long time, her sleep was dreamless and left her feeling refreshed and relaxed when she awoke the next day.


	7. Eleven: Sweets For The Sweet

Tegan licked the biscuit crumbs from her fingers with relish. One of the few things she could be grateful for these days was the fact that the bioneural telesthetic inhibiting membrane not only slowed the aging process and kept her from having to clean herself as often, but sped up her metabolism as well, at least according to Seven's calculations. So far, she'd shown no signs of gaining weight, even when she went weeks at a time without stirring farther than bed to kitchen to couch and back again.

If a girl had to be enslaved to an evil potential future Doctor, then at least she got to look fantastic during the ordeal. A Hollywood dream; no need to dirty up the heroine or put her on a diet, she could look great during every scene and it was all explained away by the technobabble.

She waited for some sort of sarcastic comment from her invisible passenger, but he was silent. Come to think of it, he hadn't made so much as a peep in her mind for the last couple of days. Curious.

Before she could ponder the significance of his temporary absence, she heard the door chime. "First time one of them's bothered with anything but knocking," she muttered as she rose to her feet and left the comfort of the kitchen table.

As she approached the front door, her heart raced in sudden excitement; was it possible the Valeyard was distracted, or even totally absent, when she would have the opportunity to tell one of the Doctors what was going on? \\_Please, God, let it be so\\,_ she begged silently as she broke into a trot and hurried to turn the door knob.

She got as far as opening her mouth; he let her have just that much hope before clamping down once again on her mind. \\_I'm always here\\,_ that hated voice taunted her. \\_Never doubt that. I'm _always_ here\\._

And her open mouth stretched into a welcoming smile as she looked the newcomer up and down and said: "Well, then, which are you?"

False hope laid aside, she focused on the moment at hand—and the man standing in front of her. Tall, wiry, with thick, wavy dark brown hair, carrying a white paper sack in one hand with writing on it she couldn't quite make out.

But that wasn't the feature she found herself zeroing in on. A bowtie; he was wearing a _bowtie_, for Heaven's sake. A red one. It drew attention to his neck—thin and overlong, leading up to his equally long face—in an unflattering way. Still, it seemed to say something more than just "look at my neck!" It was downright cocky, that red bowtie. The rest of his clothing wasn't much to comment on, but that bowtie…

"Bowties are cool," he said, intuiting the source of her fascinated stare and managing to sound defensive and proud at the same time. "And I'm Eleven and you're keeping me standing in the doorway because…you don't like bowties?"

He grinned to soften any edge to his words, and Tegan grinned right back to show no hard feelings, swinging the door wide and gesturing him into her house in as exaggerated a manner as she could manage. "Bowties are always welcome, Doctor, especially when worn by Time Lords bearing gifts." She nodded toward the bag. "If I'm right in assuming that's a gift?"

He glanced down at his hand as if surprised to see himself holding anything in it, then looked back at her and grinned. "I thought you might enjoy a treat. Some pastries from La—"

"Ladurée at Harrods!" Tegan squealed as she recognized the writing on the bag he was offering her. She practically snatched it out of his hand, opening it up and peering in at the scrumptious goodies he'd brought her. "Macaroons! Ooh, my faves!" She inhaled deeply. "Salted caramel, blackcurrant violet…you marvelous, marvelous man!" She threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly to her, careful not to squash the treats. "Thank you!"

He smiled down at her obvious joy, and she couldn't resist; she pulled him closer and kissed him, a friendly kiss that rapidly turned into something more. He put his arms around her awkwardly at first, as if he'd forgotten how to hold a woman between this regeneration and the last, then seemed to steady himself somehow till he was pressing her body against his with as much enthusiasm as she'd shown upon opening the bag of macaroons.

Said bag had already been dropped to the floor, one treat discarded easily in favor of another, the one she really wanted to indulge in. She allowed herself a split second of regret, then reminded herself that macaroons didn't squash easily, and honestly, she had better things to occupy mind and body with at the moment.

He'd come alone, which she appreciated even without the Valeyard's desires taken into consideration. Or in spite of those desires; by now she ought not to want to do anything but the opposite of what that bastard wanted her to do, but she'd given up on that idea two or three Doctors ago. She would take whatever pleasure she could out of these all-too-brief moments, memories to store up and treasure against the bad times to come, when the Valeyard had managed to ensure his creation and her own continued torment.

Because of all the things he'd whispered into her mind, all the promises he'd threatened her with, letting her go was not one of them.

The Doctor's hands on her shoulders, reaching up to tangle in her hair, pulled her mind back to the present. The kiss became even more heated and she wrapped her own arms around his narrow waist. A bit on the rangy side, this one, but just as pleasant to the touch as any of his other, more solidly built, selves.

When the kiss ended, she thought she heard him mutter something about her being a better kisser than Amy as he nibbled on her earlobe, but ignored him, focusing on the moment at hand, drinking in the smallest detail. The cocky little red bow-tie, so amusing at first impression, now struck her as incredibly sexy. Especially the way it unraveled so easily when she gave it a yank, hanging down on either side of his neck and chest like he'd just come from a baccarat game with James Bond. "You should have a martini glass in one hand and a revolver in the other," she murmured, and apparently he got the reference because he smothered a laugh as he pulled her close for another whole-hearted kiss.

Her hands remained as busy as her lips and tongue, pulling out his shirt and pushing his jacket off his arms. Every single version of him wore far too many clothes; when would one of them show up sensibly dressed in a simple t-shirt and trousers, easy to put on, easy to pull off and throw on the floor so they could shag like rabid weasels?

As if he'd been able to read her mind, Eleven muttered something apologetic about his clothing, then turned his attention to removing what little Tegan was wearing. He'd caught her lounging in a short, light-weight robe, green and white vertical stripes over a pair of matching baby-doll pajamas. She wasn't even wearing panties beneath them, which seemed to disconcert him a bit, as if he'd expected to have to remove more layers—or as if he'd been looking forward to doing so.

"Lazy day," she said breathlessly as the last of her clothing dropped to the floor. She was still working the button to his trousers and felt a bit nervous at being so fully unclothed when he was no more than halfway to that point himself. But all he did was offer up a bashful grin and work the zip to his trousers, stepping out of them with an attempt at grace that failed miserably when he realized he was still wearing his shoes.

Tegan smothered a laugh as he pin-wheeled his arms in order to keep his balance, then took pity on him and reached out to steady him. Muttering imprecations under his breath, he managed to dislodge the shoes and trousers and finally achieve total nudity.

They studied each other for a long moment before Tegan reached out and took his hand in hers, tugging gently until he followed her to the living room. Before she could get him to the sofa, however, he shook his head and glanced at the French doors. "Outside," he said softly, and now she was the one following obediently as he pulled her through the half-open doors and onto the deck, then from there to the soft grass of the lawn.

He didn't bother with a blanket of any kind, not even slowing to snatch the afghan off the back of the sofa, just dropped to the ground and pulled Tegan on top of him, all awkwardness gone as he gave himself over to the passion of the moment.

**oOo**

Afterwards, they lay side by side together, gazing up at the artificially blue sky while the light breeze evaporated the sweat from their skin and cooled them back to something approaching normal body temperature. The mechanical voice in her mind had informed Tegan of the expected outcome of their heated lovemaking; another Doctor infected, another chance to avoid the future the Valeyard had mapped out fallen by the wayside.

Another wonderful, amazing memory for Tegan to cling to in the dark days to come. She forced herself to focus on that part of it as she turned to smile over at Eleven. Instead of smiling back he opened his mouth as if to say something, then snapped it shut and jumped to his feet. She rolled over on to one elbow and watched, frowning, as he dashed into the house. Remembering how awkwardly he'd held her at first, she wondered if a sudden fit of shyness had come over him and was about to get up herself when he reappeared, still fully naked but carefully hold the bag of treats in one hand. He folded his lanky self back to the grass and offered her the single macaroon he'd fished out. "Sweets for the sweet," he quipped.

"Sweets from the sweet," Tegan countered as she swallowed the first, delicious bite. She closed her eyes and gave an exaggerated groan of pleasure. "Oh, it's been too long since I've had one of these…" She took another bite, licking the crumbs from her lips and opening her eyes to smile her thanks at him.

He was staring at her lips; when she experimentally poked her tongue out again to get an imaginary leftover crumb, he groaned and pulled her to him for a lingering kiss. "You taste like chocolate, coconut, raspberry," he mumbled as he moved from her lips to the corner of her mouth, licking delicately at the tender spot and eliciting a soft moan from her in response.

They moved to a slower rhythm this time, the Doctor seeming intent on exploring every pore of her skin with his tongue and lips and fingertips, Tegan agreeable to the sweet agony he was inflicting on her.

Afterwards, he opened his mouth to say something, but Tegan beat him to it. "Let me guess. Sex is cool?"

He grinned and pulled her to her feet. "Definitely cool," he agreed. "But a bit messy. Shall we go for a swim?" Without waiting for her response, he swung her into his arms, lifted her off the ground and took off at a trot for the larger of the two swimming pools. Tegan started to yell a protest, but it was too late; he'd jumped into the deep end, still holding her, barely giving her time to shut her mouth and hold her breath before they plunged into the cool depths.

**oOo**

Saying good-bye was always hard. Tegan reclined on a deck chair, watching through half-closed eyes as the Doctor finished adjusting his bowtie and turned to look at her. They'd spent over an hour frolicking in the pool, splashing each other like children, racing one another from one end to the other, until finally Tegan had been forced to admit defeat and beg off. He'd gone into the pool house and brought her the biggest, fluffiest towel he could find, which now lay beneath her, but instead of joining her, he'd gone back into the house to dress.

Ah well, if an afternoon of lovemaking and swimming was all she'd get from this one, so be it. It had been great fun, from start to finish. And she still had a dozen macaroons to enjoy after he left.

After he'd dressed, the Doctor sank to his haunches beside her and took her hand in his, allowing himself one last, lingering, appreciative look at her naked form. When he'd asked if she wanted her own clothing, she'd shaken her head and offered up an impish smile as she declared her intention of doing some nude sunbathing.

The thought of spending the rest of the day lounging about with her was tempting; too tempting. His visits with Tegan were meant to be interludes, a chance for her to meet and say good-bye to all his various selves, nothing more. Of course, they meant much more than that to both of them, but hanging about wouldn't change the fact that they each had lives to return to. "Tegan, it's been lovely," he began.

"But now it's time to go," she finished for him, her smile dimming in wattage but not completely fading. "Thank you. I had a wonderful afternoon."

"As did I," he replied, hesitating briefly before leaning forward to give her a brief kiss. She had terrific lips, it was hard to take his eyes off them, especially when she was being deliberately provocative. Which, of course, she was doing now since she noticed him staring at her lips again. Her tongue darted out and lingered first on the upper lip, then the lower before returning to her mouth, and the kiss he gave her this time was far from chaste.

"I suppose," he said after a moment, "I could leave in the morning instead. No hurry, eh?" He fumbled his collar loose as Tegan allowed him to pull her to her feet and once more into his embrace.

**oOo**

Tegan sipped her coffee, eyeing the bag of macaroons and deciding against eating another one just yet. She wanted to savor them; more, she wanted to savor them after the Doctor left, to stretch out the time they'd spent together.

It was the next morning, and the Doctor was leaving, for real this time. He was dressed and showered and finishing his own drink—tea, his usual blend—and fiddling with the flatware.

After they'd completed the breakfast ritual, she walked him to the door. He kissed her good-bye, a friendly kiss solidly lodged between chaste and lusty, as if to remind her that he really, truly was leaving this time, then took her hand in his and said good-bye.

As he was turning to go, however, he clapped one hand to his jacket pocket. "I almost forgot!" he exclaimed. "Here. This is for you." He handed her a small square of plastic.

She took it, looking up at him inquiringly. "It's a photo gallery, a rogue's gallery, if you will, of all my past selves. Up to and including, of course, the current me."

"Bowtie and all?" she couldn't resist teasing him.

He frowned down at her. "Bowties are cool," he insisted. "And so are fezzes, fezzes are cool."

She wondered where _that_ had come from but decided to leave it be. "Thanks. For everything, especially for staying the night. Safe journeys, Doctor."

"And the same to you, wherever you go from here," he replied, then he was gone, just like all the others.


	8. Three: A Fine Romance

Tegan wasn't sure whether to be amused or annoyed when the third version of the Doctor appeared on her doorstep. When she'd stepped forward to greet him, he'd offered her a fatherly peck on the forehead, then spun her around and marched her toward the stairs.

"Hey, what gives?" she'd demanded, only instead of answering, he'd "requested" that she remain upstairs until he called for her. His preemptory manner was what annoyed her; his promise of a wonderful surprise was the only thing that mollified her, and the obvious gleam of anticipation in his eyes finally brought out the amusement. "Dress for dinner!" had been his last admonishment to her, and here she was, doing as he asked, just putting the finishing touches on her make-up when a discreet knock sounded at her dressing-room door.

"Coming!" she called out, then stood and examined herself critically in the mirror.

She'd chosen a floor-length gown of silver with violet trim that almost exactly matched the color of her old air hostess uniform. She wore matching violet shoes with wickedly sharp four-inch stiletto heels that still only brought the top of her head within inches of his patrician nose. She'd taken particular care with her hair, fussing with it until it had just the right touch of old-Hollywood glamour that she'd been striving for.

When she opened the door, he was waiting with a clear plastic packet in one hand, which almost diverted her from noticing the impeccable way he was dressed in black tie and tails, but not quite. He bowed and presented the packet to her with a flourish and an appreciative gleam in his eyes that told her more than words how well she looked.

She finally allowed her gaze to leave his form as she took the packet into her hands, then gasped with surprise at the sight of its contents: a beautiful orchid, silvery-white with a delicate violet trim that made it appear as if it had been specifically designed to go with her dress. "How did you know?" she demanded as she fumbled the cover open and reached in with delicate fingers to lift the blossom to her nose.

She inhaled; the scent was heady but not overwhelming, floral with undertones of something she couldn't quite describe—something spicy, exotic. Alien.

Not unlike the Doctor.

He didn't answer, simply shook his head and offered a smug smile at the same time he offered his arm to escort her downstairs. She carefully slid the corsage onto her wrist, then smiled at him as she tossed the empty container over her shoulder and finally availed herself of his arm.

Dinner was wonderful, served on the patio while loads of white candles floated and twinkled on the pool's surface, along with a scattering of white-petaled flowers. This Doctor certainly knew how to put together a romantic evening. The roast was exquisitely prepared, flavored with something peppery but not overly spicy, so tender she could almost cut it with her fork. The veg was plain old carrots and potatoes, but the simplicity of the side dishes only enhanced the exotic flavor of the roast.

When she finished, she dropped her napkin on her lap and leaned back in her chair with a satisfied sigh. "That was super, thanks," she said, smiling over at Three.

He returned the smile and offered a half-bow from his seated position. "Port and brandy in the library?" he asked with a twinkle in his eyes.

Tegan shook her head and rolled her eyes. "I'd have thought champagne and dancing in the ballroom," she shot back.

He chuckled at her exaggerated indignation. "How about a compromise?" he suggested. "A moonlight drive in one of those vintage cars of yours." He nodded in the direction of the detached garage, hidden from view by a line of trees but certainly within walking distance.

Not, however, in the heels she was currently sporting. "Only if we can change first," she suggested. "Wouldn't want to ruin a perfectly lovely pair of shoes crunching through the gravel."

"Meet me in, hmm, ten minutes?" he offered as he rose from his seat and moved over to pull her chair out for her. Even if it was only a simple deck chair, she still felt as if he were helping her rise from a throne. She dimpled and nodded, allowing him to escort her back into the house as he'd escorted her outside, leaving him behind at the foot of the stairs.

When she made her way to the garage fifteen minutes later, it was to find that he, too, had donned more casual clothing, something well suited to the auto he'd chosen for their evening ride. He looked just as dashing in country tweeds and duster as he did in a tux, she decided, and hoped he approved of her choice of clothes as well.

She'd opted for a pair of comfortable jeans and loafers with a simple sweater just a shade darker than the lavender trim on her evening gown. Suspecting that he'd pick out one of the convertibles, she wore a matching scarf over her hair to complete the ensemble.

His gaze swept her from head to foot and back up again, stopping at her eyes. "Very nice," was all he said as he handed into the passenger seat of the car. Once again her predictions had proven true; he was going to be the driver this evening, not her. She didn't mind; it was kind of nice, being coddled like this, having someone else take charge of her life without it being a takeover of her life.

Not at all like what the Mara or the Valeyard had done to her, forcing choices on her against her will.

She quickly shunted aside the thought as she heard the Valeyard's distant chuckle echo through her mind. \\_Sod off\\,_ she thought angrily. Just like him to ruin the moment by reminding her of his presence. She'd actually managed to forget about him for large chunks of the evening, and wanted to continue to do so.

For once, he seemed to accede to her wishes, not bothering to taunt her or remind her of the darker purpose behind the evening she was enjoying so much.

Good. She put him out of her mind and focused on the man next to her, grinning up at him as he snapped on a pair of old-fashioned goggles, gunned the motor and took them out of the garage and into the night.

**oOo**

Tegan laughed in pure delight as Three drove around the curvy hillside trail with an expert hand on the steering wheel. "I miss this!" he shouted into the wind. "The TARDIS is, well, the TARDIS, but there's nothing like your hand on the wheel and wind in your hair for pure riding enjoyment!"

"Unless it's flying your own plane!" Tegan shouted back, still grinning. "Tomorrow it'll be my turn to take you for a spin!"

"Deal," was his prompt response, then there was no time and no breath left for talking as he took a hard turn on the "country lane" that meandered around the edges of her property. One branch of it ended at a small hill overlooking the "ocean", and it was there he stopped.

"Tired already?" Tegan teased him, knowing full well he was just drawing out the enjoyable evening they'd been sharing.

"Just a bit of a rest before we take her back to that well-appointed garage my later self had the good sense to provide for you," he replied with a smile.

Tegan unwound the scarf from her head, shaking her hair to decompress it a bit and scooting closer to the Doctor. He leaned his arm against the back of the seat and Tegan took it for an invitation, moving even closer and resting her head against his shoulder.

They simply sat there, looking out over the ocean, feeling the light breeze blow over them for several comfortable minutes. It was the Doctor who broke the silence first. "It's a lovely view, even if the stars are a bit sparse."

"I wanted it that way, so I wouldn't ever forget why I was here," Tegan said after another moment. "So I wouldn't ever get so comfortable that I could think of this place as home rather than my own personal Elba. Even when I had you, my Doctor, I mean, hypnotize me so I wouldn't remember in between visits, I still wanted to know I wasn't on Earth."

"Tricky thing, Gallifreyan hypnosis," Three said with a slight frown. Before Tegan could ask her if he was disapproving of his future self's use of it or Tegan's requesting it in the first place, he shrugged. "Ah well, water over the dam. I'm just glad you decided not to continue that particular experiment." With a sidelong glance at her, he added: "I much prefer you in the here and now."

She wrinkled her nose at him, considered sticking out her tongue and deciding against it; he'd probably lecture her on what he would rightly consider childish behavior, and the one thing she never ever wanted him to do was think of her as a child. Any of "him."

She'd given up on expecting anything other than sweet romance from this Doctor, so was pleasantly surprised when he turned to her with an impish gleam in his eyes and asked: "Tell me, Tegan, have you ever gone skinny dipping under the stars?" He cast a disparaging glance skyward. "Scanty though they may be?"

She responded to the challenge in his voice by rising from her seat, pulling her sweater over her head as she did so and dropping it deliberately on his upturned face. A sound suspiciously like a muffled laugh emerged from beneath the purple knit before his hand reached up and tossed it back her way.

She evaded the throw easily as she hopped over the side of the car and kicked off her shoes. "Race you!" she shouted over her shoulder as she ran down the hill directly toward the "ocean," leaving a trail of clothing behind her, jeans and panties and socks and bra.

She'd already dived into the chilly surf before he caught up with her, naked and shining in the paltry star-light, a delighted grin stretching from ear to ear as he joined her with a shout at the cold. "You could have warned me!" he spluttered when he resurfaced.

She couldn't help it; she laughed at him, at the outraged expression on his face and exaggerated shivers. "Come on, Doc," she scoffed when the laughter had subsided, batting his arm playfully. "Surely you've been colder."

"And warmer," he conceded, reaching out to take her in his arms. So much for frolicking in the surf; they were both teeming with ulterior motives tonight. She allowed him to pull her closer. "Shall we do something to get warmer, Tegan?" he asked, his voice a husky breath against her ear as he slid his arms around her waist.

She responded with a kiss that did much to dispel the chill, hands clasped behind his neck, bodies touching along their disparate lengths and a rapidly heating part of his body making itself felt against her mid-section as the kiss deepened. He was a charmer, this version of the Doctor. "Lucky number Three," she murmured against his throat as she trailed a line of kisses from his lips to collarbone, and felt his quick intake of breath as she lingered on a particularly sensitive spot.

"Lucky indeed," he responded, sweeping her into his arms and carrying her out of the water. He strode hurriedly up the beach and slight incline to the car, where he stood her once again on her feet and rummaged in the boot for a blanket.

They made love under the stars, not her first time doing so but certainly the sweetest. She was even able to ignore the mechanical voice in her head when it confirmed that this Doctor had been infected, focusing instead on the comfort of lying in his arms under an alien sky.

**oOo**

They drove back to the house at a slower pace than when they'd left, taking their time, just enjoying each other's company. Tegan left him to unpack and fuss over the roadster while she went back to the house and jumped in a shower to rinse off the sand and salt water and bits of grass that had found their way into various creases and crevasses. When the Doctor joined her under the warm spray she smiled at him, helped scrub him down and dry him off as he did for her, then took him to her bed and held him in her arms as they both slept.

She dreamed of airplanes and flying and had not a single solitary nightmare for the first time since Four left. When they awoke in the morning, she took him for the promised flight, proud of her hard-earned piloting skills, trying not to miss her father as she always did when flying a plane on her own. He'd been the one to teach her, and even five years after his death she still missed him. She shyly offered the Doctor that information before they boarded her plane right after breakfast, and he nodded understandingly when she finished speaking.

"We all have those we've loved and lost," he said, sounding wistful. Tegan realized that in such a long lifetime, any Time Lord would have lost many friends and companions, but it had to be especially true for the Doctor, living his life so far from home, among people who had such ephemeral life spans compared to his.

Adric couldn't have been the first to die on his watch, so to speak, she thought, her throat aching with remembered loss. A loss this Doctor had yet to face, not for two more regenerations. She cleared her throat and changed the subject, determined not to cloud their last day together with such somber thoughts.

She managed to keep that resolve until he left her after dinner that evening. They made love a second time, this time while sharing an afternoon swim in the pool; she would always associate him with water, still and calm, cool and tugging with tides, salt and chlorine, as well as with speed. Fast cars, fast planes…fast women?

No, another "don't go there" moment in her mind. She kissed him good-bye at the front door and watched as he entered his TARDIS and left her behind to face an empty night, alone in her own bed, with her own thoughts to torment her and the Valeyard to whisper poisonous promises of pain and betrayal into the very fabric of her dreams.


	9. Ten: Rose By Any Other Name

_Up front thanks to moonmama for her invaluable assistance with this particular chapter, featuring a threesome between Ten and Tegan and (in spirit) Rose._

* * *

><p>For once, the sound of a smart rap at the front door didn't startle her. For once, she'd been given notice via a cheery com-net voice message that one of the Doctor's past selves—which one, of course, he'd neglected to tell her—was coming to see her. The message had at least identified, if only vaguely, time and day for the visit. Miracles <em>could<em> happen.

Her first thought upon seeing him was how adorable he looked, from his messy shock of short brown hair to the glasses perched on the end of his nose to the incongruous pair of trainers on his feet. Well, incongruous considering the simple brown suit he was wearing. Certainly not incongruous considering who was wearing that eclectic ensemble. "What's this, Time Lords age in reverse?" she blurted out without thinking. "Honestly, Doc, you get younger looking with each regeneration. Which, for you, is…?" she paused questioningly and he obliged by answering immediately.

"Ten, number Ten, a nice, round number. You're looking well, Tegan, perhaps not younger than the last time I saw you but certainly quite lovely, no deception in the memory at all." He gazed at her admiringly as he spoke, eyes brimming with humor, and she couldn't stop herself from smiling back at him.

"Well, come in, then," she said, stepping aside to allow him entrance. He barely glanced at the spacious living room before heading directly for the kitchen. "Tea?" she called out, only mildly sarcastic at being left behind in favor of an electric kettle and his favorite blend.

"Tea, lovely, yes, exactly right," he called back over his shoulder. Tegan allowed the door to slam shut behind her and followed him, taking a seat and watching as he fussed over the tea things.

In spite of her momentary irritation, she was happy to see him seeming so relaxed, so at ease in her "home". And it was nice, she had to admit, to have him doing the tea-making, watching with a surge of affection as he unerringly selected her favorite cup and made her tea exactly the way she liked it.

"Got your memories back, I see," she said, then bit her lip in vexation. Still, if it was likely to put him off, her bringing up what could be a touchy subject, the Valeyard wouldn't have let her say it.

"Oh, more or less," he agreed, sounding cheerful. And not a forced cheer, either; he'd not only got his mind back in order but must have also come to grips with whatever it was that Eight had been forced to do to that he hadn't wanted to tell her about. To burden her with. "There's still the occasional gap here and there, I can't always recall exactly what I had for breakfast a century or two ago, occasionally there's a familiar face that I can't quite place. Once I found a melon-baller in a bin of Zeus plugs and I had no idea how it could've got there. But really, some amount of that is almost inevitable in a life as timey-wimey as mine."

She raised an eyebrow. "'Timey-wimey'? Really?"

He shrugged. "You know how it is, Tegan, trying to explain how time works to people who haven't the right mental wiring to understand it."

"Timey-wimey," Tegan repeated, shaking her head in mock dismay. "That really takes the cake, Doc."

"Well, things aren't always easy to put into words with your crude human language." He waved an arm vaguely in the air, nearly sloshing his tea out of its cup as he did so. He hastily returned the cup to the counter and shrugged without looking at her. "It's…"

"Complicated," she finished the sentence for him, and he nodded solemn agreement.

She made a face and sighed. "When isn't it?"

He reached across the table to take her hand in his, meeting her eyes. "Never, unfortunately." He sounded sympathetic this time, the hint of alien superiority gone as if it had never existed. "But at least it's a bit less complicated for me now than it was for my immediate predecessor." He hesitated, then added: "Tegan, I have to tell you, I doubt very much that he'll put in an appearance."

She looked confused. "Um, shouldn't you already know if he does or not?" Four had remembered being with her as Two, so why didn't Ten remember being with her as Nine?

"Has he yet?" the Doctor countered. Tegan shook her head, and he shrugged. "Well, there you go then." As if that were some kind of an explanation. When Tegan opened her mouth to demand more information, however, he popped a finger against her lips. "Shh, don't fuss. I'll try and explain, all right?" He waited for her to nod, then pulled his finger away and peered at her somewhat doubtfully. "You see, it has to do with how memory and linear time sense work. With me so far?"

Just for the sake of getting to the point, she nodded, ignoring the Valeyard's howls of laughter in her mind.

"So," he continued, "when things happen to you, they happen in order, one event following another, nice and linear and straightforward, even when you're bouncing around time and space in the TARDIS. Cause, effect, right?"

She nodded again, this time sort of seeing where he was going. "So you're saying it's different for you?" It was his turn to nod, but Tegan frowned as she struggled with the alien concepts. "Why? You travel through the same time and space as us mere Humans, things happen to you in a certain order, cause and effect, so what's different?"

He tapped his forehead. "This is, Gallifreyan physiology, the way our brains are wired, to put it in layman's terms. See, we're interacting together, the two of us, right now, yes?" He pointed first at her, then at himself, then back and forth in rapid sequence.

Feeling somewhat dizzy, Tegan nodded and he beamed at her approvingly. "Right, so, we're interacting in this place and time, but you haven't yet interacted with my ninth self, so that puts us out of sequence, he and I, when it comes to you in this particular moment."

The dizziness was definitely increasing. Tegan put up a hand. "Stop. Wait. So, you're saying, because I haven't met with Nine, that means you can't remember it, either?" She shook her head. "Doc, that just doesn't make sense. Because then if I meet up with an earlier version of you—this you, not another you—in future, I wouldn't be able to remember having met this you, or would I?"

Thoroughly confused and tangled in the grammar, let alone the concepts she was struggling to grasp, she came to a stop, staring helplessly up at the Doctor. "Well? How far off track am I?"

"Just a bit," he replied, holding two fingers closely together. He frowned down at them and pulled them further apart. "Maybe more than a bit. Because we're back to physiology again, and your human memory works in a strictly linear fashion, whereas mine, er, doesn't. So anything that happens to you, no matter when it happens, gets imprinted into your memory in the same order it occurs."

Tegan gazed at him for a long moment before speaking. When she did, for the sake of her sanity she simply homed in on the question she found most pressing. "So why don't you think Nine will make an appearance?"

She didn't think he was going to answer her, especially since she'd let him drag her into such a convoluted side-trip, but surprised her by hesitating only a second before responding. "It's what happens during his…while he's me. Well, before he's me, I should say." He paused, seeming to consider his words. "Well, right before he's even _him_, when he's—when I'm—still my eighth self. The big decision I had to make, the one I—he—we told you about?"

This time he was the one doing the inquisitive head-cocking, but Tegan nodded promptly. She remembered all too well. "Fate of the Universe," she reminded him.

He nodded glum agreement. "Fate of the Universe."

When he seemed not about to continue, she tried another verbal prod. "So, whatever decision it was Eight had to make, he made it, and it, what? Sort of took him until he became—becomes—Nine before it really sunk in, something like that?"

He gazed at her with an expression somewhere between surprise and approval, as if she were a dim pupil who piped up with the right answer ahead of the smartest kid in the class. Typical. "Spot on. When I regenerated into Nine, well, it's like everything that happened, the bad thing that happened, I mean, it all sort of settled itself into a whopping great load of guilt and anger. Which," he finished breathlessly, "makes it highly unlikely that he'd be willing or able to…take comfort from you."

He was a babbler, this one. Ten. A real babbler, and she still couldn't get over how young looking he was. God, he was almost as young in appearance as "her" Doctor. So. Not. Fair. Even with her newly-increased lifespan, she'd still get old and gray and wrinkled and eventually die.

Die, and in dying finally be free of the Valeyard. Terrible when death was something an otherwise healthy young woman looked forward to.

"Why not?" She cut into his babbling firmly. It was obvious he wasn't going to say anything new if she let him continue on as he had been. What was wanted was a firm tone and a blunt question. Luckily she was just the woman to provide him with such.

"It's…complicated," he said after a long silence, repeating his earlier words. "Can that be enough, d'you think?"

She wrinkled her nose. "It's always complicated with you, Doc. But I'll take your word on it. No number Nine. Got it." She reached forward and brushed her fingers against his cheek. "But whatever it is happened long enough ago for you to be here, to...take comfort from me, is that right?" she asked softly.

He ducked his head and reached up as if to remove her hand, then settled for covering it with his own. "Well, it hasn't exactly been a piece of cake either, this regeneration," he mumbled, still looking down at his lap. Or her legs; hard to tell. "Lots of disappointments, lots of running up and down corridors and explosions and people leaving or being forced to leave, and Jackie Tyler…God, Jackie Tyler," he groaned, raking his hand down his face as if this mysterious person was worse than any number of Sontarans or Cybermen.

She let him ramble on. So whatever it was that Eight had alluded to, the big decision he had to make, had been made, and Nine had paid the emotional price. She suspected Eight's actions had forced regeneration on him, and if that was the case, no wonder Nine was unlikely to be one of her visitors.

_\\You have no idea,\\_ the Valeyard whispered nastily.

She ignored him, focusing on the Doctor in the hand, so to speak. The dirty part of her mind giggled. \\_A Doctor in the hand is definitely _not_ worth two in the bush.\\_ She felt a flush forming along her cheeks and tried to think of something to say to the one in front of her.

He kept her from having to pick a topic by leaning forward and pressing a sudden kiss to her lips, tongue meeting no resistance as it sought entrance. Tea cups were forgotten, "complicated" was forgotten, in the simplicity of need meeting need.

The kiss deepened, and he pulled her over across his lap, then lifted her into his arms, carried her into the living room and pressed her down on the sofa, helping her out of her clothing as she helped him out of his, then leaning down to kiss her again, his body half-raised above hers in the narrow space.

He murmured love-words against her throat and neck and the lobe of her ear, alternating with a series of kisses. "That's my Rose," he whispered as he made his way down the column of her throat.

Tegan stiffened in his hold, shoving her hand up between his lips and her neck, eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Who's Rose?" she demanded. She'd let Eleven's mention of Amy pass, especially since she'd come out favorably in comparison, but this was too much.

Oops. How had he managed a slip like that? "Uh, I meant your lips, they're as soft as roses. And really, Tegan, it's an apt description, rose petals are very soft and to be honest, we both know how thorny you can be at times…" His voice trailed off as he gazed at her with as much sincerity as he could muster.

When he reached out to stroke the side of her face, however, she shoved his hand away and scrambled out from underneath him, yanking down the afghan to cover herself as she glared at him from the corner of the sofa. "Who's Rose?" she demanded a second time. Her voice rose a notch, not quite shrill but very likely to get there if he didn't tread with extreme caution. "You called me Rose, who is she?"

"Tegan, I'm sorry." Words could never express his regret at that particular slip of the tongue. "I truly am."

The moment well and truly spoilt, he eased himself into a sitting position, watching warily as she huddled in the corner, knees to her chest and arms around them, a defensive pose at odds with the anger in her voice. "She's someone I…she's gone, off to a different Universe. Trapped there, and it's my fault, I couldn't hold onto her, one minute she was safe, the next she was flying past me, and the next her father was there to bring her into his Universe, his reality, and she was gone from mine." His eyes closed briefly, to hide the pain that separation still caused him.

"You loved her."

The Doctor gazed down at his hands, not sure how to proceed on this thin ice of his own making. Tegan was correct; she wasn't the only traveling companion he'd grown to love, although she was one of the few he'd actually made physical love to. And he'd brought another woman into what was meant to be a special moment, just for the two of them to share. "She's gone," he replied simply, bringing his gaze back up to meet hers. "I'm sorry. I'm _so_ sorry."

All Tegan's anger and hurt melted away at the regret she saw in his eyes and heard in his voice. What did she expect, that he'd always lead a monk's life when not with her? And who was she to judge? He would leave and never see her again after this, and whoever this "Rose" was (stupid name, she'd always hated people named after flowers ever since her Cousin Hyacinth had stolen every boyfriend Tegan had had from kindergarten to secondary school), it was obvious he'd cared deeply for her, even if he wouldn't admit to the "L" word.

Some things never changed; the "L" word had never passed "her" Doctor's lips, either, but he'd shown her the feelings he couldn't seem to put into words. The impression she got from Ten was that he hadn't even done that much for Rose.

This time, just this once, she decided she could be forgiving. It wasn't the first time a boyfriend had called her by another woman's name (_damn you, Hyacinth_!) and it probably wouldn't be the last. No, strike that; it probably _would_ be the last, because she doubted very much that the Valeyard would let her develop any future relationships, unless it was for his purposes.

Depressing thought. One she wasn't allowed to express, although it was interesting that he'd allowed her to start the argument with Ten in the first place. With a pang, she realized if he'd simply forced her to ignore the Doctor's slip of the tongue, then she'd be the only one suffering here, instead of the two of them.

Never mind Hyacinth; damn the Valeyard and his manipulative hold on her mind and body.

_\\And soul\\,_ he reminded her with a nasty chuckle, then forced her to smile and hold her arms out to the man sitting across from her. "It's all right."

"All is forgiven, come home?" he asked with a wry twist of the lips. But he accepted her embrace, and she was given control over her voice and actions once the Valeyard felt the resignation in her mind. This was going to happen, with or without her conscious cooperation, so why give him the satisfaction of manipulating her like a puppet?

Not that the moment was recaptured; on the contrary, Ten seemed content to hold her in his arms, bodies pressed together, arms around one another, but no more kissing or fondling. And after ten minutes passed in comfortable silence, Tegan heard the mental voice that confirmed her infection of yet another Doctor.

The most she could manage was a weary mental sigh. She was just a pebble in this avalanche, with no control and fast losing hope of escaping the torrent.

Some of her melancholy must have shown in her face, since the Doctor tucked a finger under her chin and turned her face up to look at him. Frowning, he murmured: "I really did mean it. I'm sorry, Tegan." He leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on her lips. "I promise, it'll never happen again. Tegan." He repeated her name as if cementing it in his mind, and she allowed herself to return the kiss, sweet and gentle and almost healing.

When his arms tightened around her, pulling her closer, she allowed it, draping a leg across his lap as the afghan slipped off her shoulders and fell to her waist, covering her buttocks and not much more. She'd half-forgotten they were still completely starkers. Her gaze dropped down to his lap, then flew back up to his face as she realized he was still fully aroused. What man was that patient, that he could simply hold a naked woman in his arms, a woman he clearly desired, without hinting that he still wanted things to progress?

_\\This man_,\\ her mind whispered. \\_This Time Lord.\\_

He'd already been infected. The Valeyard had retreated from the forefront of her mind as he always did when he didn't feel the need to directly manipulate her or make sure she was doing as she was supposed to do. She could make love to the Doctor if she wanted to. Or not.

It gave her a giddy feeling, as if she'd regained some measure of control over her life, as if the avalanche had been diverted long enough for the pebble to bounce free. She glanced down and back up again, a flirtatious smile on her lips. "You're right, I've been known to be thorny, Doctor," she whispered as she eased herself down, lips hovering above a certain spot. "But I can be very, very soft when I want to be."

The Doctor eased himself from her grasp, laying her back on the sofa. He grinned down at her playfully before offering her a warm, lingering kiss. "Tegan," he murmured as he worked his way to her earlobe. "Tegan," he whispered again as his hand drifted down from her shoulder to cup one breast.

"Doctor," she whispered back, the fingers of one hand stroking the back of his neck while the other hand worked its way between their bodies to once again grasp his most human of male attributes.

"I think," he gasped out, "that we should dispense with the formalities at this point in our relationship, don't you?"

She gazed at him in puzzlement. "What do you…"

He leaned his head closer to hers and whispered a single word in her ear. "My name," he murmured in explanation. "Yours to use whenever and wherever and under whatever circumstances you want."

She kissed him in wordless thanks, tears springing to her eyes at the precious gift she'd been given. Why "her" Doctor hadn't been the one to tell her was something she'd take up with him at some future point. If, of course, the Valeyard let her.

Fortunately, he remained silent as she and Ten made love, tenderly at first, then more and more fiercely. She tried whispering the name into his ear, to show him how much she appreciated what he'd just done for her, and felt him shiver under her touch. Then thought fled as their entwined bodies seemed to merge, to become one; it seemed impossible for them not to have merged at the subatomic level, become one person if only for the briefest of nanoseconds, and then the moment was over and they were once more their own separate selves.

**oOo**

Afterward, they shared a glass of wine and watched the sunset together, snuggled together under the much-abused afghan on the sofa. Then they put the telly on and watched hours of the silliest series they could find: Tegan's favorite was the superhero comedy "My Hero" and his was something called "Black Books" that had them both convulsed with laughter two lines into the first episode.

He spent the night holding her in his arms after she slipped into sleep, just watching her, marveling at how easy he found it to be with this woman. Far easier than he'd ever allowed himself to be with Rose. Drat, there she was again, why couldn't he just leave the moment be?

Still, there was no harm in it, not while Tegan was sleeping so peacefully. Not after they'd had such an amazing day together. By morning he'd be gone from her life, back to his own vagabond existence. "Another day, another adventure," he muttered, but softly. Tegan might have been joking about how he'd worn her out, but he could sense the strain beneath her smiles. Even if she was cured, ready to return home once she'd said her goodbyes to the rest of his selves, what the Mara had done to her had taken its toll. "Ah, Tegan, you're so much better off without me," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

And so was Rose, he silently admitted. Rose, whom he could never share himself with as intimately as he had with Tegan. Why was it that he could only truly be himself with someone he knew wouldn't be in his life for very long? All they would ever share would be this moment, this place in time, then each would go back to their separate lives.

Tegan wasn't even planning on staying with his Fifth self, the one she truly loved; he knew that without her ever having to spell it out for him. She understood that being in love with a Time Lord—with him in particular—meant danger alongside the adventure, difficult choices to be made, and that what they wanted would always come second to what the Universe needed.

Stupid, bloody Universe. Sometimes he hated it, hated his own sense of responsibility and the arrogance that assumed that he and only he could set things to right. The fact that past experience more than backed up this self-centric view didn't help, not in the least; it was still a weight on his shoulders no matter how willingly he'd taken it up.

He wondered if Rose, too, would have eventually chosen to leave him, even though she'd so confidently declared "Forever" on New Earth. If she ever would have concluded that the friendship, the companionship, he offered her was no longer enough.

Not that he'd ever know; Fate and the universe and the Daleks had conspired to take that choice away from her even as they stole her from him. It was some small consolation, knowing she was alive and presumably well in another Universe, but it was a Universe without him.

Before his thoughts grew even more melancholy or worse, self-pitying, he returned his attention to his sleeping companion. She really was better off without him, although she'd be the first to deny it, most likely at the top of her not-inconsiderable lungs. Mouth on legs, indeed. But more than a small part of her had to agree with that, else she'd have simply chucked it all and joined his fifth self in the TARDIS once again. Instead, she was going home, back to Earth and a life without telepathic invaders trying to drive her mad or struggling with the idea that he was capable of committing what she considered to be murder…

With a mental exclamation of disgust, the Doctor eased himself out from under the afghan and paced to the French doors, leaning on one arm as he looked out into the darkness. What would she think of him if she knew exactly what he was capable of? Would she turn from him in horror, the way she had when he made it clear that he intended to kill Davros? Or would she be able to forgive him, accept him as he was, understand why he'd had to do what he'd done?

He would never know, because he would never tell her. That much was a given.

"Doctor?"

Tegan's sleepy voice interrupted his brooding thoughts, and he hurried back to her side. "Sorry, just a bit restless, didn't mean to wake you," he said as he slipped back under the afghan. "Maybe you should go up to bed."

"Only if you're coming with me," she replied sleepily, resting her head on his shoulder. He eased his arm around her, holding her close and listening to her breathe as she slipped back into sleep. She was keeping to Earth time, and it was well past four in the morning for her.

He continued to hold her until the sun rose, then slipped away once more, this time gathering up his clothes and dressing himself quietly. Then he carried her up to her bed, tucked her in and kissed her goodbye. He was glad he'd given her his name, even if he still wasn't quite sure why he'd done it. True, she was special to him, else he'd never have agreed to come here in the first place, especially knowing how she wanted to say her goodbyes, but that alone wasn't enough to account for it.

Or was it? Perhaps that was all he needed, to remember their time together with fondness and know he'd made her happy. Or perhaps it was because he'd never given Rose that particular gift, never had the time to do so when he thought he had all the time in the world and then some to share things with her.

Either way, the parting of the ways had come. He kissed her again, felt her lips press against his, heard her murmur "Goodbye", then walked out of her life and back into his own.


	10. One: French Postcards

It was nearly a week before another knock came at her door, and she was caught flat-footed at the sight of the man standing before her. He didn't match any of the pictures Eleven had given her and he couldn't possibly be who she'd been told to expect in the comm message she'd received. Before she could ask the question that must be obvious on her face, the handsome, brown-haired man who appeared to be at most in his late twenties swept into an eloquent bow. "How'd'you do, Miss Jovanka. I'm the Doctor." He straightened with a twinkle in his eye. "I believe you were expecting me."

She continued to gape at him like an idiot. She'd met him, this Doctor, while at the tomb of Rassilon, she'd had that image in her mind when the message came through that he was on his way. His first self, the one the Valeyard wanted most desperately for her to infect.

The one she most wanted to avoid, had prayed wouldn't bother to answer his fifth self's call. Without him, the plan fell to ruin. Without him, perhaps she could finally be free of the Valeyard's influence.

But here he was, and nothing like she'd thought he would be.

He was young, so much younger than the version she'd met, decades younger looking, and God, so cocky! He was preening himself as she raked her gaze over him from head to foot and back again, a definite smirk quirking the corner of his mouth upward while she continued to stare. His shoulder-length, light brown hair was pulled away from his face and held in against the back of his neck by what looked like a rawhide tie. He was dressed in what she mentally dubbed an Errol Flynn-pirate style: loose white poet's shirt, tight black trousers, knee high black leather boots, a dashing red sash around his lean waist, and good God above, those _cheekbones_…she realized she was till gaping and shut her mouth quickly as he sauntered toward her with a knowing grin on his face.

"What, you don't like the outfit?" He looked down at himself, then back up her as his smile changed from knowing to sly. "I dressed up specially for the occasion, don't you know."

"I…you…you're so _young_!" she blurted out, then blushed furiously. Lovely, nothing like insulting a man you're supposed to want to seduce.

Instead of taking her impulsive words to heart, however, he merely continued to grin as he came to a stop directly in front of her. "I take it that means we'll meet again sometime in my future, hm? Sometime when I'm…not so young."

Tegan nodded, temporarily rendered speechless. It wasn't just that he was young; it was that he was so self-assured, almost arrogant in his demeanor. Sure, the old man at Rassilon's tomb had been haughty, but he'd also been an almost stereotypical Victorian gentleman, and she'd subconsciously assumed that was how he'd always been.

_\\If he was that much of a prude, he'd never have agreed to come here at all\\_, some part of her mind pointed out. Not the Valeyard; no, she'd recognize his voice, he never bothered to disguise it or hide it or pretend to be other than he was.

Like the Doctor's second self, she'd expected her meeting with this version, the original, to be more along the lines of "Hey, let's go for a swim" or "Oops, spilled wine all down your shirt, better get that off and let me clean you up". Well, things had gone as expected with Seven and completely different than she'd had in mind with Two, so she should really just stop having expectations and simply take the various Doctors as they came.

The Doctor looked her up and down, lips pursed, while she tried to think of what to say next. Hard to do when she felt as if both feet were firmly tucked into her mouth. He walked around her, still studying her, and she stood still and let him, grateful for the time to come up with something clever to impress him with. "No, that won't do at all," he pronounced as he finished his circuit and returned to his original position in front of her. "Not at all."

Tegan immediately went on the defensive, bristling at what she perceived as a deliberate insult. "What won't do? What's wrong, you don't like the way I'm dressed?" She looked down at herself. She was wearing a deep blue sun dress with matching wedge-heeled sandals. There was a parade of cheerful red poppies around the knee-length hem, but otherwise the dress was plain. Plain and beautiful, in her opinion.

"Exactly," he responded, cocking his head to one side and resting his chin on two fingers. "I want to photograph you, but that dress simply won't do."

Tegan gaped at him. "You want to…what?"

"Photograph you," he repeated patiently. "It's a hobby of mine at the moment. I've been spending time in Victorian England, lovely period, so full of contradictions and hypocrisy; the perfect era to perfect my knowledge of humans. And you, my dear, are perfectly proportioned for a French Postcard shot." He held out his hand imperiously. "Show me your wardrobe. Surely you have garters and period shoes? Something with a rose on the toe or a strap across the top of your foot, hm?"

Feeling dazed and not a little disoriented, Tegan led the way upstairs. Curiously, the Valeyard seemed content to leave her on her own with this version, barring his mental gag order about revealing his presence or plan, of course.

Or, she thought with a flash of hope, perhaps there was something about the Doctor's first self that would be able to sense if Tegan was being blatantly forced to do these things? Anything was possible; she held on to that hope as she led the way upstairs, still baffled by One's insistence on photographing her.

She'd heard of French postcards, of course; who hadn't? Silly Victorian pictures of women posing in their underwear, or completely naked for the even naughtier patron to drool over. Why on Earth would the Doctor want such a thing?

When she voiced her question, however, he shushed her and indicated that she should continue up to her extensive wardrobe room. She shrugged and did as he asked, flinging the door open and showing him the neatly stowed contents, dresses and skirts, pants and blouses, drawers for underwear and brassieres and gloves and stockings, jewelry and pocketbooks, shoes and socks. Anything a girl could want to wear, from evening gowns to cut-off shorts.

She rooted around for the requested garters and matching stockings; when she held up a waist-garter, he shook his head. "Too modern, my dear, far too modern. I would prefer the kind that slip individually around each leg. In black, if you have them."

She'd never delved to the very bottom of the large drawer holding stockings and garters, but found exactly what he was asking for, as if somehow the room itself was cooperating with his silly demands.

While she was busy slipping the silk stockings on, fussing with the garters so the bows faced front while the seams on the stockings themselves remained straight along the back of her legs, the Doctor was rooting around amongst her shoes, casting first one pair then another aside with grunts of disapproval.

Just as she was about to offer to just go barefoot in her photograph, he jumped back up to his feet and grabbed her hand. "Come on, I've just the thing in the TARDIS."

_\\Don't let him bring you into his TARDIS!\\_

The Valeyard's voice was like thunder in her mind, echoing and reverberating and touching off a headache as violent as any she'd ever felt when the Mara's booby-trap had been doing its evil work in her mind. She staggered a bit, pulled her hand out of the Doctor's grip and pretended she'd just stumbled over one of the shoes he'd thrown out of the closet. "Just bring them back here," she grumped. "If I'm going to pose for a photo shoot, I'd rather do it here, if you don't mind."

He gazed at her searchingly, then shrugged and bounded out of the room and down the stairs. Tegan sagged against the closet door, closing her eyes and bringing a trembling hand to her face. "What the bloody hell was that all about?" she whispered, bewildered by the Valeyard's unexpected vehemence. After all, it wasn't as if she hadn't been in the Doctor's TARDIS since her enslavement began; Seven had brought her to his to fuse her body with the second (useless) inhibiter.

_\\I don't want you there. That's all the answer you'll get from me.\\_

He sounded sulky, petulant, like a spoiled brat forbidden some treat. Not at all like the arrogant bastard who'd been taunting and torturing her ever since she fell so neatly into his trap. Well, the one thing he'd never been able to do was turn off her own thoughts, so she could speculate to her heart's content, and maybe, just maybe, the Doctor would insist that she enter his TARDIS and whatever it was the Valeyard didn't want to happen would happen.

His only response to her defiant thoughts was a disdainful snort, but somewhere far back in her mind, barely heard, as if he were mentally as well as physically elsewhere.

Good. He could stay as far away from her as he liked. It was never going to be as far enough away as _she_ liked.

**oOo**

One posed her against the closet door, one hand stretched languorously over her head, the other resting lightly on the cut-glass doorknob. Naked. He'd meant what he said about French postcards, she'd give him that much. The only thing she had on was the stockings, the garters holding them up and a pair of dark brown shoes with low heels and straps across the tops of her feet. They absolutely did not go with the jet black garters and stockings, but he assured her that on film they'd look perfect together.

He'd instructed her to go heavy on the eye and lip makeup. "Use your darkest black for your lashes and eyeliner, and your deepest red for your lips." As if she had no idea how to make herself up for so theatrical a black-and-white photo as he was proposing. She'd done youth theater and panto when still a teenager, after all.

Still, she didn't bother pointing that little fact out to him; she just went and did as he asked and now here she was, feeling a bit silly and a bit naughty and heading toward aroused whenever he touched her bare skin to adjust her pose. If he wasn't treating her like a prop she would have tried kissing him or caressing him, or _something_ to see if he admired her more naked than he had fully clothed, but she found herself intimidated by his brusque attitude. He'd been bordering on flirtatious when he first arrived, but as soon as he'd come back from his TARDIS, photography equipment in hand, he'd been all business.

Now, however, he had his head covered and his rump sticking out as he bent over and forced herself to stifle a giggle at the sight. The look must have been what he'd been waiting for; he barked out a muffled: "Don't move!" and she froze with the grin still on her face. At least he'd modified the ancient camera so she didn't have to keep perfectly still for five full minutes while it developed.

He ducked back out from under cover, a satisfied smile plastered on his face. "Perfect!" he said, rubbing his hands together. "Just one more and we're done."

Tegan's smile immediately morphed into a disgruntled frown as she lowered her upraised arm and massaged her aching shoulder. "You said it was perfect," she whined. Yes, whined, like a spoiled brat. But really, how much of this endless fussing was she supposed to put up with? He'd received the call and knew why it had been sent, why on earth was he spending so much time…teasing her?

He, too, frowned as he crossed his arms and gazed down his nose imperiously at her. Not that he was so much taller than she, but still. She got the gist of his irritation. "Art is its own reward, Miss Jovanka," he said stiffly. "You of all people should know that. Would you ever draw one perfect picture and declare yourself finished forever? No, of course not, that would be utterly ridiculous. I want to pose you over there." He gestured toward the chaise under the window and strode purposefully toward it. "Lounging."

Lounging. She resisted an eye roll, instead following obediently at his heels, her shoes making soft tapping noises on the hardwood floor. She allowed him to once again pose her like a life-sized doll, draping her left arm over her head this time so it rested along the edge of the chaise, legs extended but crossed at the ankle.

While posing her right hand at her waist, his wrist brushed against her breast and Tegan sucked in a breath at the feather-light touch. She gazed up at the Doctor, but if he felt anything, he didn't show it, just continued fussing with her fingers until he had them exactly as he wanted them, slightly splayed as if she were about to do something naughty but hadn't quite made up her mind as to which direction her hand should drift, up or down.

"Don't move," he said, turning his back on her and striding back to the camera. Curse it, couldn't he have set it up before posing her? She hadn't had to remain so unmoving since her Great-Aunt Clara had come to visit when Tegan was eight.

She tracked the Doctor's progress with her eyes, not daring to move a muscle until he gave her leave. When he bent over to retrieve something or other he'd dropped, she watched his nice, firm bottom until he straightened himself up, biting back on a sigh of disappointment when he arranged the dark fabric over his head and disappeared again behind the camera.

He took several shots this time, ducking his head out between to study her intently, then bark out instructions. "Move your left ankle slightly lower." "Raise your hand slightly—no, the other one." "Dangle your fingers, don't clench the chaise, you're awaiting a lover, not a murderer."

That last one sent another jolt through her body, and she had to literally pry her fingers loose from the edge of the chaise again, dangling them "softly" as instructed. She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, then disciplined her mouth into the coy smile he demanded of her.

"Perfect." She sighed upon hearing those words again and eased her body into a long, satisfying stretch, from fingertips to toes, uncrossing her ankles and wriggling into a more comfortable position.

She closed her eyes as she prolonged the stretch, luxuriating in it like any cat on a sunny window sill. When she opened them again, she was startled to find the Doctor crouched by her side, studying her intently.

She blinked and opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, but he laid a finger on her lips, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled down at her. She felt her own lips curving upward in response to the warmth of that smile.

Greatly daring, she planted a soft kiss on his extended finger. The freshly-reapplied lip color left a bright red imprint, the whorls and lines of his fingerprint clearly outlined in "Crimson Passion". She waited for his reaction, which wasn't long in coming but exactly what she'd both hoped for and dreaded: he reached out and stroked the side of her cheek with the backs of his fingers, curling them around her ear as he leaned in to kiss her.

It was a clumsy, hesitant kiss, not at all what she'd expected from the arrogant Time Lord, either based on what she knew of his older self or the way he'd been ordering her about all afternoon. If nothing else, it was certainly at odds with the sexy rock-star/pirate clothing he was wearing!

Either something of her surprise came through or else his own unexpected hesitancy caused him to break off the kiss and pull back. "This is what you want?" he asked, and Tegan couldn't help her surprised reaction at the anxiety in his voice, the nervous glint in his eyes.

"Of course," she replied with a grin. The Valeyard wasn't about to let her express her next thought, that if it wasn't what he wanted then he was perfectly welcome to leave and no hard feelings. But he did allow her to ask: "I thought it was what we both wanted?" with a coquettish flutter of her eyelashes.

There was a faint flush high on those to-die-for cheekbones. "Well, of course, it's why you asked for us to…the problem is, it's been…that, is, I haven't yet…"

The lightbulb flashed and Tegan's smile turned into a moue of surprise. "Wait, you mean you haven't…this would be your first time? First time with a human?"

He shook his head and looked as if he wanted to turn his eyes away, but kept his gaze locked with hers. "First time with anyone," he admitted gruffly.

Then where in the Universe had Susan come from? Tegan had always assumed his granddaughter had been born on Gallifrey and tagged along when he ran off with the TARDIS, which presupposed that her parents had also been born on the Doctor's home planet. But then, that didn't really make any sense, unless there were more to the story than the Doctor just feeling the call of adventure and fleeing Gallifrey because he felt stifled and bored.

Her questions were doomed to go unanswered, as the Valeyard kept her lips firmly closed on them. Instead, her forced her into a seductive smile and made her reach up to pull the Doctor's head close enough for her breathe into his ear: "Well, then, I guess I'd better make this memorable."

Then the Valeyard left them to their own devices, content to return to monitoring her for any sign of rebellion while she and the Doctor's first self did what came naturally. The Doctor allowed her to take the lead in everything, at least the first time round, but as his confidence grew—and she made sure to encourage him by expressing her pleasure verbally—he became more aggressive, to the point where he initiated things during their third bout of lovemaking.

And the fourth. And the fifth.

Tegan begged off finally, citing discomfort and the need to soak in the spa before they resumed their activities. The Doctor had turned out to be an apt pupil, one would go so far as to say gifted—and she hastened to assure him of that when he wondered if she wasn't just being polite and really wanted him to just leave her be.

For someone with such a high opinion of himself, he could be incredibly vulnerable. He was just usually better at hiding it, she concluded as she hunted up some towels to use after their soak in the spa. He had no interest in any kind of guided tour of the house or grounds, only in spending time with her. It was flattering and frustrating at the same time; why oh why hadn't he ignored the call and ruined things for the Valeyard?

But then, if she hadn't been his first, who would have? If she hadn't, would any of his future selves have been willing to make love to her, or would more of them have turned her down? It was a conundrum, even taking into account Ten's not-quite-explanation of how a Time Lord's memories weren't as linear as a Human's. According to him, that meant that only now would the other versions of the Doctor remember her time with One.

She stepped into the spa while the Doctor went into the house to get a quick drink, offering up a silent groan at the headache she was giving herself. What did it all matter, when in the end everything she was doing meant she was hurting the Doctor? Helping to create his own worst enemy in the most literal sense? She should just be trying to get what enjoyment she could out of these interludes, especially since this one was likely to be the last. The Valeyard's plans didn't include sending his twelfth self, the one that would ultimately regenerate into him, back to see her, although she wasn't sure why. Something to do with the fact that he was, or would be, the penultimate form the Doctor would take before turning evil.

The Doctor interrupted her thoughts with a hand on her shoulder, and she turned to him with a smile. Whatever he wanted from her, he would get; it was the least she owed him, any of him, all of him.

And yet, it wasn't even close to being payment for what she owed him.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

If only. She simply shook her head and smiled again. "Come on, join me," was all she said, offering her hand to him. He took it and entered the water gingerly, as if suspicious of the bubbles and heat, but gave a comfortable sigh as he leaned against the side and put his arm around her shoulder.

They snuggled in the water long enough for it to do its job, soothing aches and easing pain. Tegan had certainly never had such an…athletic…afternoon and since he'd been a virgin—so hard to think of the Doctor as ever having been one!—he hadn't, either. They made love once while still in the water, once on the deck and twice more in one of the unused bedrooms. One that hadn't been "christened" as of yet.

When he left, it was with a sweet kiss, a warm hug, and a small packet pressed into her hand.

She opened it after his TARDIS vanished, smiling down at the framed pictures he'd given her.

Her naked self smiled back up at her, posed against the closet door, lounging on the chaise. She looked comfortable, far more relaxed than she'd felt, and she silently thanked her vanished visitor.

**oOo**

She was back in the spa after carefully placing the framed photos in her studio, head back, eyes closed, when the Valeyard made his sardonic mental presence known again.

_\\Enloying yourself?\\_

"Sod off," she retorted aloud. Why not? No one was there to hear her.

_/Just making sure you've recovered from that impressive bout of sexual activity.\\_

She could hear the sneering voice as clearly as if he were standing next to her. "Why not tell me why you didn't want me going into the Doctor's TARDIS?" she retorted, still speaking aloud. And not just to hear her own voice; contrary to the opinions of countless relatives and ex-boyfriends, she didn't like to speak just to hear herself speak.

She was truly surprised when he actually answered her.

_\\The TARDIS isn't as closely bonded to the Doctor as she will be in the future, doesn't know him as well as she will later. There's no chance of her confusing me with him, she'll recognize my presence in your mind, recognize me as alien and give alarm.\\_

_\\But how?\\_ Tegan thought back, not bothering to hide her confusion. Confusion not only at the explanation he was offering, but at the fact that he was explaining anything to her at all. \\_You said no one could enter my mind ever again\\…_Then it dawned on her and she felt a grin spread across her face. \\_But you meant no _living_ being, is that it? The TARDIS has telepathic circuitry and could suss you out with no problem._

_\\Only _his_ TARDIS, the first one\\,_ he corrected her sharply. \\_It's younger than the TARDIS I allowed you to enter with Seven, just come from Gallifrey; even if it's an older model it's still new to the Doctor, still in its prime.\\_

_\\Still capable of letting the Doctor know about you,\\_ Tegan interrupted nastily. _\\Good to know.\\_

_\\Yet still useless to you.\\_ Just like the Valeyard to have to have the last word; with that taunt, he was gone, leaving her to scream her frustration aloud, to throw pillows and cushions off the sofa and have a good, long temper tantrum. What difference did it make? The 'bots would clean up again and even if they didn't, she doubted she was going to be here much longer, whether the Valeyard stole her away or whether Five came to take her home.

She wondered dimly how long the Valeyard would let things go before giving up on Nine. Ten said he wasn't likely to show up, and Tegan believed him. Unfortunately, now that One had shown up, it didn't really matter.

Whatever the Valeyard had planned next was going to happen, and soon.


	11. Nine: Urgent

**Many, many thanks to my fabulous beta, moonmama, for making this chapter even better than I'd dared to hope.**

* * *

><p>Tegan had set the climate controls to rain. Usually she kept it sunny around her house even when rain was falling elsewhere, watering the lawns and gardens and non-holographic parts of the forests and meadows, but she wasn't in the mood for sunny skies. Not today.<p>

God, she was so tired of it all. If only her memories of being with so many versions of the Doctor were untainted by the manipulations of the Valeyard…if only she had the mental strength to shuck off the bonds he'd placed upon her mind and body…if only, if only.

"If only I had a million dollars, I'd be rich," Tegan grumbled as she stood by the French doors and stared out at the rain. She'd pinned so many hopes on the Doctor, on one of his many selves figuring out there was something wrong with her seduction plan, on the first Doctor not coming to see her, and now all that was left to hope for was that Ten was right, and Nine wouldn't come round, that the mysterious whatever-it-was that happened to him and Eight would keep him away.

She continued to stand, brooding, as the sun slowly set and the rain continued, unabated. She left only long enough to pour herself a glass of red wine, then went back to her lonely vigil, sipping occasionally from the glass and trying desperately not to think.

As always when she was alone, the Valeyard's presence in her mind dimmed, as if he were a nightlight left on in a distant room, barely discerned but still there. She ignored him, willing her thoughts to dwell only on the rain and the descending darkness. She wasn't going to let it stop raining for a few days, she thought rebelliously. No matter how the gardening and lawn-care 'bots felt about it.

Not that they actually felt anything, of course, that was just her anthropomorphizing the stupid bits of metal and plastic, but still. They would express their displeasure in those toneless voices so like and yet so unlike those of the Cybermen.

She shivered; why couldn't her thoughts just go blank when she wanted them to, instead of bringing up horrors of the past? The robots' voices had never reminded her of Cybermen before; what was next, that she compared them to Daleks? She snorted at the thought. If she ever heard one of them say "Exterminate" it was more likely to be directed at dust mice under the furniture than at herself.

The sound of the front door slamming open startled her. She turned with a gasp, losing her grip on her glass of wine. She barely noticed as it smashed itself to pieces on the tile floor, more worried about who her unexpected visitor could be. Surely not the Valeyard? Her blood ran cold at the thought.

Incipient panic gave way to a sort of stunned surprise as she recognized the man striding toward her in the gloom. "You," she breathed when he stopped directly in front of her, watching her as warily as she watched him.

The Doctor's ninth self. The one she'd never expected to meet.

She recognized him from the "Rogue's Gallery" Eleven had given her, although he wasn't wearing the leather jacket. Still, there was the close-cropped hair, the lean physique, the haunted eyes that had been so accurately captured in the photograph. It was dark, but enough light shone from the lamp in the kitchen to reveal that he was wearing a deep blue t-shirt and jeans and, incongruously, no shoes, every inch of him dripping wet from the rain.

She opened her mouth to say something flippant about shutting the front door or cleaning up the glass he'd made her drop, but before she could speak he stepped forward and seized her roughly by the arms, drew her to him and forced a kiss on her that literally stole her breath even as it stole her thoughts right out of her mind.

He ended the kiss before she passed out from lack of oxygen, but only barely. Tegan felt her heart pounding as hard as it ever had, and if she noticed the way his soaking wet form had plastered her own clothing to her body, she said nothing, merely pressed her hands against the glass behind her in order to keep from falling.

Instead of moving back, giving her space to recover from the shock of that kiss, letting her regain her breath or her reeling senses, he pressed himself against her once again, trapping her between his body and the door, one hand on either side of her head, fingers splayed against the glass. A flash of lightning briefly illuminated the darkness, and in that moment any protest Tegan might have been considering died in her throat.

His eyes were wild, desperate; his face, mask-like and yet all too emotionally vulnerable. He was holding himself rigidly under control, in spite of the intensity of the kiss they'd just shared, and she sensed how fragile that control was. One wrong move, one wrong word, even, and this could erupt into violence.

So she waited, feeling his body against hers, unsure if she should look away or continue to keep her eyes trained on his now-unseen face, unsure of anything until he leaned forward and forced a second kiss on her. Instinct took over, reason fled gibbering into the backmost recesses of her mind, and she surrendered to the moment and the man in front of her with a passivity that would have astounded anyone who knew her well.

He reached for her, wrenching the damp blouse from her body, buttons popping, seams tearing, tugging it down her arms with impatient jerks, and her own hands moved to lift his t-shirt away from his waist, pushing it up toward his armpits. He stepped back and twisted it off over his head with a grunt, dropping it to the floor with a wet "plop" and returning his attention to her body. His hands tugged with continued impatience at her skirt, rending it with only a little more difficulty than he'd had with the lighter fabric of her blouse. The skirt dropped to her feet and she shimmied out of her panties before he could wreak more havoc on her clothing.

Too late; he'd already decided the bra was impeding his progress and yanked the straps off her shoulders, shredding the delicate lace and ripping it from her body with almost contemptuous ease.

_Almost_ contemptuous; that was the key phrase, the one that kept Tegan from panicking and striking out at him, from wondering if he'd been possessed or wasn't really the Doctor after all, no matter who he looked like. There was a fury to his actions, to the way he touched her, but a desperation overriding all, keeping it from degenerating into an attack. In spite of her earlier impression, she knew that he'd never deliberately hurt her, that if she pushed him away he might resist but would ultimately allow her the choice.

Knowing that she had a choice, intuiting it, feeling it with every fiber of her being, gave her the confidence to undo the button of his jeans, to lower the zip and spread the wet denim so she could better help him to unclothe himself.

He made a sound deep in his throat, half-moan, half-growl, and jerked away from her long enough to force the heavy, clingy fabric down his legs, taking whatever underclothing he was wearing with it too quickly for Tegan to determine if it was boxers or briefs, and what did she care? Not a whit, not when he returned his attention to her so quickly he might have been a conjurer, one minute clothed, the next naked and her lips captured for a third searing kiss.

She clung to him for support as they made love against the cool glass surface, and continued to hold him afterwards, as he rested his forehead against hers, eyes shut tight, still holding her in that desperate grip that was sure to leave bruises if she didn't have the medical 'bots tend to her before going to bed.

Before she could say anything, he pressed a kiss to her lips and smiled, very briefly, so hard to see in the dimness but for the flash of teeth. Then he lowered her gently to the floor, paused, and as she found her footing she could feel him holding onto her as if for support. His breath was deep and heavy on her shoulder until he drew back finally, releasing his grip and turning away from her, just slightly, as if unable to commit to either staying or going.

Or maybe there was something else he was contemplating; the way his eyes were flitting over everything in the room except for her, the crease deepening between those eyes; something was obviously weighing heavily on him. Whatever it was—related to Eight's decision, she suspected—part of her wanted to know, to have him share his burden with her.

And part of her prayed he wouldn't. Whatever it was, it had been too much for Eight to share with her and as such, she was far from certain that she wanted to hear it now.

He wanted to tell her, though, and all she could do was stand helplessly by and listen. "They're all dead, Tegan."

He spoke the words in a low voice, staring at the floor, as if ashamed, and this rattled her far more than the actual words did. Death was nothing new to the Doctor; they'd certainly racked up quite a trail of destruction when she'd traveled with Five and it had hardly fazed him then. Indeed, that was a big part of why she'd left him in the first place. So to see him so deeply affected by it now—it was endearing, and it was also downright terrifying.

"Wh - who?" she finally ventured.

"The Daleks," he replied. He sucked in a breath, crouched down to pick up his wet clothes, and began pulling on his trousers.

Why would he be mourning the destruction of the Daleks, the most evil race in the universe? This didn't make sense. She started to ask, but he cut her off. "And the Gelth," he added. "The Eternals." Another deep breath. "The Time Lords."

"The - who?" she stammered. It was too much; trying to think through this with her slow human brain was like moving through molasses. She had to be missing something.

"The Time Lords, Tegan. They're all dead." He was standing straight up now, looking right at her with cold blue eyes, as if daring her to react.

She choked back a sob. "But—how? What happened?"

"The Time War happened," he replied. "The Last Great Time War, between my people and the Daleks. Years of destruction, folded over history to spread across the millennia, across the galaxies, erasing and overwriting events like a virus. Like an inferno, burning away everything that was ever good and true."

She felt the tears pricking at her eyes, such a tiny reaction to an enormous calamity. "So they destroyed each other?" she surmised. "The Daleks and the Time Lords?"

"Not exactly," he said darkly and that's when Eight's words came back to her, sending a shiver of ice through her. \\_I know what I need to do now\\. _That's what he had said, and now she was certain that she didn't want to know what he had meant.

But Nine was set on telling her, apparently. He was determined to force the information right onto her shoulders; shoulders which he was now grasping tightly as he leaned in to plead with her. "I didn't want to do it," he said, and now she knew for sure. "I tried to stop them," he insisted. "I tried to help, but everything I did just made it all worse. Tegan, they turned into monsters."

She turned her face away, trembling from head to foot. "You always found another way," she accused.

"I tried," he insisted, his voice hollow. "Over and over, I tried. Everything I did just ended up making the Time Lords more powerful, or else they found a way to erase what I'd done entirely. You saw what it was like—you saw what they were doing to me. I didn't even recognize you, remember? And that was one of my better days; some days I hardly even knew who I was or what I was fighting for."

"To help people," she supplied bitterly. "That's what you always used to fight for."

"But I couldn't always save everyone," he reminded her. "You of all people should know that. Tegan, you _know _me. You know I would've gladly died rather than sacrifice anyone else. But there was no saving them. And they were going to destroy Time itself. Castrovalva, Frontios, Deva Loka, they all would've been gone." His voice dipped to a whisper in her ear. "Earth."

She turned her face to his and saw the tears in his eyes, and when he added, "You," her last defense was broken and she was pressing her lips to his, softly and tenderly. Their tongues slid together as the salty taste of commingled tears spread, forming another sob in Tegan's throat. She choked it back and pressed forward, feeling the twin beats of his hearts through the thin, wet fabric of his t-shirt. She gave an inadvertent shiver as she belatedly felt the chill against her bare skin.

The Doctor noticed the shiver and swept her into his arms. She'd been carried by so many versions of the Doctor now it felt almost as natural as walking.

He brought her to the sofa, the scene of so many of her assignations with various versions of the man now holding her in his arms. So many memories, loving and tender, tempestuous and passionate, that if a single piece of furniture could somehow be erotically charged, infused with the very concept of "sex," this would be how she would forever picture it.

He started off at a slower pace this time, but no less intense. He was holding back, Tegan could tell as he held his body above hers, trying to give her some semblance of tenderness even though it was obvious he was currently incapable of feeling any such soft emotion. The Time War seemed to have burned all that out of him, leaving only despair and barely repressed brutality, and Tegan let him know she understood by nipping sharply at his neck, sinking her teeth into his skin hard enough to leave a mark.

"Stop holding back," she ordered him when he stared at her with an expression of outrage obvious even in the near-total darkness. To emphasize her point further, she raked her fingernails down his back hard enough to draw blood.

With a hiss of indrawn breath, he gave in to what he needed rather than what he seemed to think she needed and dropped his head to hers for another demanding kiss, arching her head back on her neck as she submitted to him on every possible level.

Body. Mind. Soul.

Much later, when he finally left her, he spoke only two words. "Thank you." Then he was gone, back into the storm and out of her life.

Infected.

One through Eleven, all infected.

The Valeyard had won.


	12. The Valeyard: Made Not Born

**Warning: Extremely dark chapter. Noncon, violence, violent noncon. You've been warned.**

* * *

><p>She was in her studio when he arrived to drag her away. She'd prayed that her own Doctor, Five, would get to her first, at least bring her back to Earth and home before she was once again whirled off into the horrors facing her, but no. He wasn't going to show up until she contacted him, that had been the deal, and of course the Valeyard wasn't going to allow her even that much comfort.<p>

Not that she wanted to inflict him on Earth, but he wasn't necessarily out to get her home planet.

Just her, and through her, the Doctor.

The door banged open, Tegan started and dropped the sketch pad and pencil she'd been holding, and he was there, larger than life, twice as ugly, gleefully unconcerned with the glare she shot his way as she slowly rose to her feet.

She could practically feel the manic grin morph into an angry frown as she deliberately turned her back on him and knelt to pick up her scattered belongings. She tensed, waiting for the command for her to turn and face him or do something even more humiliating, but the Valeyard, it seemed, was in far too good a mood to allow her pathetic attempt at defiance do more than dim his elation for the few seconds it took her to rise back to her feet.

Still, she kept her back to him, even though her instincts were screaming at her to face him, never turn your back on an enemy, but painful experience told her he was just as dangerous face-to-face, so why bother? She placed the sketch pad and pencil carefully on the side table next to the recliner, then finally, deliberately turned to look at him.

He'd moved closer during that brief span of time, excruciatingly close, close enough to touch had he so chosen. She jerked back in surprise, then stopped her feet from taking her across the room, where they so sensibly wanted her to be, and stood her ground, still glaring defiantly at her tormentor, albeit from a position of extreme weakness. Still, no one had ever accused Tegan Elizabeth Jovanka of giving ground to a bully, and she'd be damned if she started now.

The manic glee made his eyes (blue, she finally was forced to acknowledge their color: deep, cerulean blue) positively glow as he gaze bored into hers. "Time for the really fun stuff to start," he said before grasping her arms and yanking her toward him for a demanding kiss.

She struggled; if he didn't force her not to, she would always struggle, but stopped short of biting his tongue. That hadn't worked out so well the last time she'd tried it. Not that things were working out so well for her right now, or ever would again, but still. Why court a beating when the outcome was going to be the same whether she made him bleed or not?

When that brutal kiss ended, he shoved her so that she stumbled and collapsed back in her chair. He dropped to a squat before her, arms resting on her knees, and again she restrained herself from launching herself at him, but only barely. Instead, she offered her coldest, most indifferent stare as he studied her.

Perversely, that seemed to please him; his grin stretched even wider and his fingers were stroking her thighs almost lovingly as he began to speak. "What, no questions, no defiant pronouncements, no declarations that of course the Doctor will get you out of this predicament? No protests at how I treat you?" The fingers were grazing the tops of her thighs now, and she wished desperately that she'd opted for trousers instead of her usual short skirt. Anything to put some kind of barrier between herself and those questing fingers. He was going to try one of his games of "just let me seduce you and you'll be so much happier", she could tell by the softness of his movements even after that painful, dominating kiss.

She was having none of it. Her temper flared in spite of her attempts to rein it in, and she shoved his hands away. "You've won, why bother pretending you actually want me for anything more? I've served my purpose, can't you just leave me be now? Strand me here and go on your merry way?"

She held his gaze, hoping that she sounded less pleading to him than she did to herself, knowing how futile a hope that was. Just as it was a futile hope that he would actually listen to her. Life in permanent exile here would be far preferable to whatever else he might have planned for her, outside of death. And even that would be better than being forced to do his will for even a second longer.

His expression turned thoughtful, his fingers stopped their slow advancement up her thighs, pausing just beneath the hem of her skirt, and for one heart-stopping moment she thought he might actually be considering her appeal. When the smirk returned to his lips, however, she knew she'd lost. Again.

"No," he said. Just that. "No." Then he leaned forward, his lips on hers again, tongue forcing her mouth open, fingers no longer moving in leisurely exploration but with sudden intensity, shoving the denim mini-skirt up toward her hips, tugging at her panties, and the blossoming panic coupled with despair flared within Tegan's mind and soul, and she fought back against him, screaming her anger and terror, but he laughed at her and whispered to her to just relax and enjoy it and God help her, she suddenly found herself spreading her legs to allow him fuller access and was kissing him back, arms curling around his neck to pull him closer…

Abruptly, he pulled away. Laughing. Damn him, he was laughing at her, and all she wanted to do was scream in his face, gouge his eyes out, slam her knee into his groin, inflict as much pain on him as he'd ever inflicted on her, but the order to relax was still there, still in force, so all she could do was sit and watch as he rose to his feet and stretched.

"Time enough for that once we're back in my TARDIS," he announced, then reached down and pulled her to her feet. She automatically pulled her panties back into place and straightened her skirt, taking his hand obediently and following as he led her out of her home-in-exile and into whatever future he had planned for her.

As soon as they entered his TARDIS and he locked the door behind them, Tegan felt the compulsion to just relax and go along with things vanish from her mind. She tugged her hand free of his loose grasp and glared at him; dirty looks being her only weapon now, ineffective though they might be. "What now?" she spat, putting as much distance between them as she could, all the while being careful not to back toward that stupid pile of blankets and pillows he'd left on the floor near the console.

"I've saved a special treat for you, Tegan," the Valeyard replied, as if he were a favorite uncle and she about to receive a bag of jelly babies. "When the shit hits the fan, as that oh so colorful American saying goes, you'll get a double face-full, seeing what you've done through our lovely link." He tapped his forehead meaningfully, then stroked the side of her head, causing a shiver of loathing to pass through her frame.

He laughed, unperturbed by her reaction. "What, don't you want to witness the fruits of our collective labors, Tegan?"

"The only thing I want to witness is your slow, painful death," she spat back.

"But it'll be fun," he said in a coaxing voice. "We get to relive their twisted memories, the ones that will bring me that much closer to existence, and remember, we get to see it from the perspective of anyone you managed to touch, Ace, Peri, Romana—tricky bit, that was, I wasn't sure how another Time Lord would react to the sensation of the infection but she handled it like a pro, our Lady Romanadvoratrelundar, shook it off like it was the nothing she took it for."

Tegan found a moment to wonder what would have happened if Romana hadn't "shook it off," but it was far, far too late for what if's and wishful thinking. All she had to look forward to now was being slammed along with the Doctor and the others with memories that had no basis in reality but would feel all too real to whoever was experiencing them. She would share the Doctor's reactions, his feelings; she would know when he knew and what vile things the Valeyard had come up with to torture himself into existence with.

Still, she had to try, to put off the moment as long as possible. Desperately her mind latched onto the fact that Romana had been infected as easily as the humans she'd been forced to make contact with. "Why did it only take seconds for me to infect Romana but longer for the Doctor?" she blurted out. If nothing else, the Valeyard loved to show off his superiority to her; would it work this time?

He offered up a long-suffering sigh before moving closer. She wanted to back away again, but he snapped out a harsh: "Stand still!" and she was forced to comply, with gritted teeth and clenched fists and a promise of murder in her eyes that he laughed at. He was always laughing at her and she felt a worm of shame burrow its way into her heart as she realized, yet again, that there was nothing she could do but endure it. No way for her to fight back unless her permitted her to.

"Romana was infected so easily for three reasons. Shall I enumerate?" Without waiting for her to answer, he continued, ticking off the points on his fingers as he did so. "One, she's much younger than my previous selves, even my first self at the point you encountered him. That alone increases her vulnerability to the nanoprobes' effects. Two, she spent a far longer period of her early life on Gallifrey, with no need to build up any kind of immunity to alien viruses that the Doctor did during his travels."

Nanoprobes, that was a new one, but at least Tegan knew the name of the contagion she carried within her body. Big deal. "And third?" she finally, grudgingly, asked, knowing she wouldn't like the answer just by the way he was grinning at her.

"Why, simply because it was so much fun to watch you seduce your way into having sex with all my past selves, of course!" he replied, the false heartiness in his voice setting her teeth on edge. "I stayed there the entire time," he added, lowering his voice as if offering up a confidence. "I experienced it along with you, and because those memories were making their way into my mind at the same time, as Ten so obligingly tried to explain to you, I got to experience everything from two points of view." His smile turned lascivious. "Quite an experience. Perhaps I'll share it with you sometime."

"No thanks, I'll pass," Tegan replied through gritted teeth.

The Valeyard stopped short of responding, however. He suddenly closed his mouth and eyes, an expression of purest pleasure transforming his features for just the shortest of moments into something almost…angelic.

Almost. That expression could only mean one thing: something nasty was about to happen. And Tegan knew what that "something nasty" had to be. For once, she found herself almost wishing it meant he was about to force himself on her.

The moment had arrived, and all she could do was brace herself and pray the Valeyard would be too caught up in his own experiences to remember to bring her into it, the way he'd threatened to.

With lightning speed he reached out and grasped her firmly by the forearms. "Can you feel it, Tegan?" he breathed, eyes still tightly shut as he swayed slightly on his feet. "Feel it with me, feel it building, feel the memories as they explode in my past selves' minds and flow from one to the other until they reach their target…"

With those words, the interior of the TARDIS melted away, and Tegan spun into a series of nightmares that would haunt her for the rest of her life.

**oOo**

_She nearly collapses as the first implanted terror rips through her mind. She is in the TARDIS with the Doctor's first self, but instead of the sexy swashbuckler she last saw, he is the imperious old man she remembers from the Gallifreyan Death Zone. This time, however, his expression is a sneer of contempt, his movements crisp and deliberate…and cruel. He is using a walking-stick to beat a young girl, dark-haired, slender, pretty from what Tegan can see through the bruises and cuts and trickles of blood as she cowers before her attacker. The Doctor is shouting, his face twisting with rage as she raises her arms to try and defend herself. "I gave up my life to raise you, you ungrateful little half-breed! You should have died with your parents!"_

_Another person rushes into the Control Room, another dark-haired woman, this one older than the young girl—Susan?—who has collapsed to the floor in a sobbing heap as the Doctor continues to beat her. "Doctor, stop, what are you doing?" the young woman screams as she tries to grab his arm._

_He turns with an enraged snarl and uses the cane to knock her to the floor. She falls with a cry of dismay as he turns his rage on her, raising the stick above his head and bringing it down with enough force to break bones…_

_The image fades, but quickly returns to focus. Although Tegan finds herself still in the TARDIS Control Room, the enraged figure before her isn't the first Doctor, it's his second self, with nothing of the affable old duffer about him as he stalks another young girl menacingly across the floor. "Just because you're smarter than anyone on that wretched space station, you think that means you can just stow away on my TARDIS, follow me about like an unwanted dog, undermine my relationship with that stupid savage I rescued from what may as well have been Earth's stone age? How DARE you?"_

_The girl, another dark-haired youngster no older than the teenaged Susan of her first vision, has backed up against the TARDIS console while the Doctor rages at her, face pale and set and the glimmer of tears in her eyes that she seems determined not to let fall. "Doctor, please, I just-" she tries to say, but he cuts her off with a ferocious backhanded blow to the face._

_She collapses, clutching her cheek and staring up at the Doctor in horror. Still not crying, but only through sheer force of will that Tegan admires even as she feels tears welling in her own eyes. She reaches out as if to stop what's about to happen, but her body is as insubstantial in this reality as a ghost; the Valeyard will force her to stand witness but not allow her to interfere. Not that any of it is real; it's all false, happening only in her own mind and that of whichever Doctor she is forced to watch, but it feels real, and once they reach the companions that she has been forced to infect—Peri, Ace, Romana—those memories will all feel as if they are real as well._

_Even as these hopeless thoughts race through her mind the Doctor is kneeling above the girl he has just struck. He is smirking at her as he reaches for her shoulders and pulls her up so they are face to face. "Still, I might find a use for you, Zoe," he murmurs, then forces a kiss on her. She tries to get away, tries to scramble to her feet and run, but the Doctor will have none of that; he easily presses her to the floor, tears her one-piece jumper off as if it were made of tissue paper, then lowers his trousers just enough to fumble himself free of the fabric and force himself between the young girls legs._

_Her screams ring through the Console Room as he enters her, and oh God, the amount of blood seeping from between her thighs, he's so large in this incarnation and the girl, Zoe, was obviously a virgin but he's not even trying to be gentle, and the screams get louder and Tegan tries to cover her ears but it's as fruitless as trying to close her eyes; she sees them, hears them, every terrible, soul-searing minute as…_

…_the Console Room vanishes and she is somewhere in the English countryside, watching the Doctor's third self coolly forcing a young blonde over the hood of an old roadster. He is naked and so is the girl but this is no voluntary tryst; her arms are bound behind her and her clothing litters the ground, shredded just like Zoe's jumpsuit, and she, too is screaming and crying, and the Doctor is smiling, just one corner of his lips crooked up, but it is the expression in his eyes that is the most terrifying, as remote as winter in the Outback and just as bleak and forbidding. _

"_Now, Jo, you didn't expect to just flaunt your body in front of me forever in those ridiculously short skirts and tight tops without me doing something about it, did you? Hmm? Of course not, I'm the Doctor, I would never ignore what's being offered to me." He thrusts a knee between the girls' legs, causing her to moan aloud as he bends over and whispers in her ear: "And I would certainly never allow such an offer to be rescinded. Remember that, the next time you try to say 'no' to me."_

_The images keep coming, in horrific, gruesome detail. The Fourth Doctor and Romana are arguing about something called the Key to Time; she is defending her decision to regenerate and he is berating her for wasting one of her lives, but when she turns to leave the Console Room (why oh why are they back in the Console Room?) the Doctor grabs her arm and slams her against the wall. She fights back, Time Lord strength against Time Lady, but he is larger, male, biologically designed to be stronger. She scratches his face and he hisses in pain and slams her head against the wall, shouting all the while that if its regeneration she wants, its regeneration she'll get, and he slams her head again and again until little is left but a bloody mess and Tegan screams her unheard screams as she feels the pain, the wetness of the blood, and greets the coming darkness with nearly as much relief as Romana herself...a darkness that does not last, unfortunately._

_A darkness that eases only so she can see/experience the Sixth Doctor nearly strangling Peri to death, then throwing her to the floor and raping her with as much ferocity, as much inhuman glee, as the Valeyard has ever shown. She sees Seven destroying a planet whose government had dared to try and take him prisoner, calmly watching as he instructs Ace on the proper amount of explosives to use to blow it to pieces, while the young girl looks on in a mix of horror and fascination that Tegan feels as well as witnesses. And that noxious mixture doesn't bode well for Ace's future development into a healthy, normal woman._

_It isn't until she sees the Eighth Doctor gloating over the destruction of Gallifrey that she realizes that, with one exception, she is being shown these images in chronological order, from the first Doctor on up._

_She dreads that one exception, knowing that if the Valeyard isn't showing it to her, it isn't because he wants to spare her. No, he's saving the Fifth Doctor's false memories for last, after she watches the Ninth Doctor and a young blonde he's just rescued being brought to his TARDIS, one with a Console Room closer to that the Valeyard favors in size and clutter and general lack of light. When Nine has the girl safely ensconced, or so she thinks, inside his amazing larger-on-the-inside time machine, he rapes her against the console itself, ignoring her angry screams and forceful but ineffective attempts to get him off her. She gets in a few good blows, but the outcome is as inevitable as the tide, and as devastating as a tsunami._

_The same blonde features in Ten's nightmare as well—Rose? Could she be Rose?—this time shackled in obvious slavery, bringing the Doctor a tray of something to eat in what must be his bedroom. He yanks her to him, chiding her for her clumsiness when she drops the tray, which of course was going to happen if he pulled on the chains holding her manacles to her wrists, whispering promises of punishment into her ear as he shoves her onto the bed. In her eyes is a combination of resignation, fear and eager expectation that turns Tegan's stomach more than any of the other sights combined._

_After that she expects Eleven to be doing something horrible to Amy-the-great-kisser, but no, he's destroying another planet, an entire solar system this time, while a young red-headed woman and a man with short brown hair watch impassively. "There, now, no more worries. We'll get your baby back, never fear," the Doctor chirps, but Tegan can see by the gleam in his eyes that this isn't about helping this young couple, whoever they are, but about causing death and destruction on such a massive scale._

_Then everything flickers and goes black, just for a second. Tegan allows herself a futile hope that it's over, this is it, but no, of course not. It is time for her to see what the Valeyard has implanted into her own Doctor's mind, Five's false memory, and as she'd feared, it is the most devastating._

_And the most vividly detailed, delving as it does into her own thoughts and feelings, her true memories mixed up with the false until they are undistinguishable in her mind._

**oOo**

_She is in the spa, the one on the TARDIS, enjoying a moment of peace and quiet. Such moments seem to be getting rarer and rarer on the TARDIS, especially now that Nyssa has left, and she values the ones she gets. The Doctor is off doing something in the console room and Turlough is sulking in his room, which is fine with her. Let the Doctor deal with that insufferable brat; just because Vislor Turlough didn't get his way, didn't mean he had to take it out on her. She much preferred him sulking in his room to his sneering presence at the dinner table, his contempt for her choice of food, his snide remarks about the outfit she'd opted to wear-and his equally snide remarks to the Doctor._

_That burns her almost more than Turlough's comments to her. \\_So much for gratitude\\,_ she thinks in disgust, conveniently forgetting all the times she herself has raged at the Doctor. After all the Doctor has done for him, he has the unmitigated gall to be ungrateful. Not that he deserves anything the Doctor has done for him; he'd done his level best to get him killed while working for the Black Guardian, and how did the Doctor react? He took the brat in, gave him a way off Earth and a home, treated him as if he were no different than any of his other companions._

_She frowns. Well, he _is_ different, dammit, and she won't forget it even if the Doctor apparently has. Turlough isn't to be trusted; she's made her mind up about that. Never mind the Doctor's admonitions that the boy has been through a lot, or even Nyssa's gentle reminders that circumstances have forced unacceptable behavior out of all of them at least once..._

_Which brings her to the real thing that's bothering her. Tegan leans her head back against the padded edge of the sunken spa. Her friend Nyssa is gone, and she is stuck with Turlough. It just isn't fair. Now, if it was just her and the Doctor..._

_She indulges in a moment of fantasy, one hand toying with the ties to her bikini top, then drifting down to brush the tops of her breasts as she allows a smile to spread across her face. She is on the verge of drifting off to la-la land when she suddenly senses another presence. Without opening her eyes, she snatches her hand away and snaps, "I want to be alone, Turlough, why don't you go sulk in your room for another hour? It's all yours after that, I promise."_

"_If I were Turlough, I might respond to that charming invitation, but since I'm not..." Tegan's eyes snap open, and she stares in disbelief at the Doctor. He's slipped into the water so close to her that their noses are practically touching, and the smile on his face is disconcerting, especially to someone who'd been imagining it under similar circumstances only seconds ago._

"_Doctor!" she exclaims with a nervous laugh. "I didn't expect it to be you—I thought Turlough was trying to annoy me. I'm sorry."_

"_That's better," he replies, still smiling—and not moving away. Tegan fights the urge to back away herself; after all, it's the Doctor she's talking to, there couldn't be anything threatening about the way he's sitting next to her, the way his eyes seem to linger on the parts of her body that show above the swirling water, the smile deepening on his lips..._

"_I didn't realize you were in the mood for a soak," Tegan babbles, gathering her legs beneath her preparatory to stepping out of the water. Had her seen her, before? Had he been watching while she...She blushes and stammers, "I'll leave you to it—"_

"_I never said I didn't want company, Tegan," the Doctor replies, reaching over and grasping her wrist, gently but inexorably forcing her back into a sitting position. "Besides, you've never been the type to run away."_

_He is mocking her, she can see it in the lift of his upraised eyebrow, but she can't resist the challenge in his voice any more than she could resist a dare when she was a teenager. She raises her chin—all right, whatever his reasons, she'll find them out. But it had better be more than just some sort of bloody tease, or he'll find out exactly how much of a temper she'd got from her mother's side of the family. "Maybe I don't want any company," she says, opting to reply to his actual words rather than to the mockery in his voice and eyes. For now._

"_Well, I don't recall asking." Tegan feels her own eyebrows shooting up at the dismissal in the Doctor's voice._

_Her eyes narrow to suspicious slits even as she tries unobtrusively to ready herself for flight again. "You're acting awfully peculiar tonight." And he has been, even at dinner, she suddenly realizes. She'd been too wrapped up in bickering with Turlough to notice at the time, but now she recalls how quiet the Doctor had been, how cutting his remarks to Turlough were when he did speak. At the time she'd been grateful for his apparent defense of her, not to mention too busy being triumphant at Turlough's early retreat to his room, but she was noticing it now. Noticing it, and perfectly willing to confront him about it. "All right, Doc. What's up?"_

_His grin broadens as he releases his hold on her arm, only to reach down and take her hand in his. "Nothing that you haven't caused," he murmurs seductively, and Tegan feels herself blushing—surely the Doctor isn't making some sort of sexual innuendo. Is he? "I've been looking forward to a moment like this for quite some time, Tegan, and don't try to tell me you don't know what I mean." His eyes bore into hers, intensely blue and otherworldly, and Tegan freezes, transfixed by that gaze. "Don't think I don't know what you've been dreaming about, alone in your bed at night, Tegan," he murmurs, whispering her name like a caress as his thumb rubs against the inside of her wrist. "Don't think I don't know what you were fantasizing about when I first came into the room." His free hand touches her, lightly, fingers trailing down the center of her chest. "I saw you."_

_The blush seems to start somewhere around her knees. "Doctor," she whispers, not quite sure what she is going to say, but stopped from saying it by the unexpected pressure of his lips against hers._

_She responds, after a startled moment, not too stunned to grasp at this opportunity. At least, for the duration of the kiss. But when it ends, her conscience prods her, and she pushes herself away from him. The Doctor has never shown any sign that he thought of her as anything other than a rather troublesome traveling companion, there have been no clues or hints leading up to this moment, and her suspicions are aroused. "Doctor, do you know what you're doing?"_

"_Certainly." He sounds affronted. "I haven't been possessed, if that's what you're worried about. How ungrateful, when I'm giving you what you want." He frowns. "Tegan, I'm surprised at you."_

"You're_surprised?" She isn't sure how outraged she should be by his words, but they aren't what she'd expected. "How do you think I feel?"_

_He shrugs, and she feels a less pleasant shiver go over her as he looks at her indifferently. "I don't know, and quite frankly, I don't care."_

_Before she can decide how to react to the harshness of his words, he pounces, pinning her against the side of the spa, covering her lips in a much more demanding kiss. She struggles against him, pulling her face away with a gasp. "Doctor! Stop it!"_

_He grabs her face tightly, nearly choking her. "Don't tell me what to do, Tegan. Now, or ever. Do you understand me?" _

_She forces a nod, but his grip doesn't ease until she gasps a breathless "Yes." Her eyes are wide with horror; what is happening? "Doc, please, something's wrong, you need help…"_

"_Tegan, just for once would you please shut your goddamned mouth?" His eyes have gone cold, and his hand tightens painfully on her throat once again. "If you say another word I swear I will beat you senseless, just as I did Turlough."_

_Tegan feels her stomach lurch as the true horror of her situation becomes apparent. The Doctor moves in for another savage kiss, releasing her throat only to tear at her swimsuit, ripping both pieces from her body and dropping them carelessly into the water. He moves his body to cover hers, one knee thrusting between her legs, forcing them apart, jamming her against the edge of the spa. She takes the threat of a beating quite seriously; the look on his face is one of pure rage. She freezes, hoping not to provoke him further, but it doesn't help as he reaches down and pulls her legs further apart, and she realizes he is going to rape her, right there. And no doubt offer up the threatened beating afterwards._

_She thrashes in the water, shoving at him with her legs, gouging at his eyes with her free hand, screaming as she finally finds her voice. Screaming for who, she isn't sure; if Turlough is unconscious, then there is literally no one to hear her, no one to help her. Part of her wishes for Nyssa's presence on board, the rest of her is thankful the younger woman isn't there; what if she had been the object of the Doctor's sudden attack of insanity?_

_And it has to be insanity, it just _has_ to be. There is no other explanation, unless he has been possessed, despite his earlier denial. The Doctor prides himself on his self-control, she's seen him fight to keep his mind his own, and this has come out of nowhere._

_She manages to heave herself out from under him during one of her more desperate attempts, scrambling out of the spa, but he is right behind her, snatching at her shoulder, spinning her around to face him. One hand grabs for her hair, yanking her closer; the other closes itself into a fist and she cries out at the impact as he punches the side of her head. Her legs go wobbly and she stumbles into him. He thrusts her toward the wall, and she realizes through the haze of pain and blurry vision that he is as naked as she was now, having either ditched or never been wearing his trunks._

_He forces her against the wall, and she blinks away the tears, trying to keep as much control over herself as she can. Not that there is much to control; her emotions, her reactions, are about it. The Doctor has superior strength, and his fury only adds to that strength. The back of her head hits the wall with a crack, her vision sparkles and fades, and she might have slumped completely to the floor if he wasn't holding her up, both hands pinning her shoulders to the same wall that is now speckled with her blood._

"_Shutting up means no screaming, either," he admonishes her in a growl. One knee thrusts her thighs apart, and he moves closer, so that she can feel the pulsing heat from between his legs. "And no running. Not from me. This is my TARDIS, and everything on it belongs to me. Including you." _

_He takes her right there, against the wall, while Tegan struggles feebly. The double blows to her head have taken a heavy toll; her eyes refuse to focus, her body is weak and shaky. She thinks she might be sick, but holds on to her nausea in panic, knowing somehow that it will only serve as an excuse for him to hit her again._

_When he finishes, agonizing minutes later, he continues to press against her, eyes closed, fingers digging into her shoulders, before abruptly stepping away. He takes her by the hair, hauling her roughly back to the spa and throwing her over the edge to splash heavily into the water. Her legs still won't completely support her; the most she can do is scramble away from him, whimpering in fear and pain as he clambers in after her. Her mind is on overload; she still can't believe this is happening, not to her, not at the Doctor's hands. She feels her control ebbing away as panic clutches her; is he going to drown her, is that why he'd thrown her back in the water? But no, instead he comes for her, pulling her close to him before throwing her back as she sits, dazed, in the same spot she'd been occupying when he first joined her._

"_Now let's see, where were we?" the Doctor murmurs. "Ah yes, just about here." He sits next to her. Her vision has finally started to clear, and she feels the warm stickiness of blood on the back of her head, the pain from both there and her cheek almost overpowering the pain between her legs. Almost. She stares at the Doctor, unable to move, knowing the futility of trying to escape. "We were talking about your needs and desires, weren't we?" He shakes her, a little, and she nods, short, rapid nods, frantic to appease him in any way. "We were talking about your fantasies. Well, this has been a fantasy of mine, Tegan, you and me and the TARDIS spa, but you spoiled it by jumping out. Not that the wall didn't serve, but now we're going to do it the way I pictured it. Aren't we?" She nods again, eyes wide with terror. "And this time you're going to cooperate." He yanks her head back, leaning over her with a fixed grin on his face. "Aren't you?"_

"_Y-yes, Doctor," she whispers when he seems to want more than a nod._

"_Good." Without another word, he buries his lips against her neck. She remains limp, unmoving, allowing him free rein over her body while she tries to pull herself together. She feels his hands on her breasts, stroking the thatch of hair between her legs, and what she once coveted brings nothing but revulsion. She keeps her eyes tightly shut, willing this to be nothing more than the nightmare it seems, until he demands that she look at him. She does so, trying to keep the fear and loathing she feels from showing on her face, but knowing herself to be unsuccessful._

_It does nothing to remove the satisfied grin plastered across his own face as he reaches beneath the water and nudges her legs apart for the third time. "Now we're not going to fight this time, are we," he murmurs. She shakes her head, stammering an incoherent response that seems to satisfy him as he looms over her trembling body. She can't stop the shaking, no matter how hard she tries, but it doesn't seem to matter to him as he brings his face down to hers for another brutal kiss, forcing her lips apart much as he had her legs._

_He rapes her again. And a third time after that, still in the bubbling warmth of the spa, whispering evil promises to continue to use her until he grows bored of her, to keep her by his side forever if necessary, and she weeps helplessly as the pain and horror go on, and on, and on..._

**oOo**

When the Valeyard finally frees her from the prison of the false memories, she finds herself kneeling on the floor, trembling, tears streaming from her eyes. She just has time to turn her head to the side before she is violently ill.

"There, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

The Valeyard is by her side, his voice warbling with false cheeriness as he tosses a couple of towels at her. "Clean up after yourself," he orders as he turns away, hands busy on the TARDIS console.

She does as she is told, numbly, forcing herself to concentrate on the unpleasant task at hand, hoping against desperate hope that the sights and stenches will help anchor her back in the here and now.

As soon wish for the moon. Once the disgusting towels are disposed of, the memories crowd right back into her mind. She knows the Doctor didn't do any of these things, yet she fears she'll never be able to think of him as she has in the past, even once the immediate horror fades. And for that tainting of her mind, she hates the Valeyard that much more intensely.

Not that he cares; quite the contrary, he seems to enjoy her hatred of him. Revels in it, even.

Monster. She speaks the word without thinking, and the Valeyard leaves the console and whatever he was doing there in order to focus yet again on his most unwilling of companions. "What was that, Tegan? Offering up a value judgement, were we?"

His voice is a low purr, more threatening than any amount of shouting, the glittering anticipation in his eyes more dangerous than his glares.

"You've won," she says dully. Why oh why doesn't he just get it over with, kill her, exile her, whatever? She's served her purpose, surely he can't want any more of her now?

Wrong again. She's so tired of being wrong that she can barely muster up the will to try and shove him away when he crowds her against the railing surrounding the console. "Bastard," she mutters, but her voice holds more defeat than defiance, and he laughs as he turns her in his arms and forces a kiss on her unwilling lips.

He deepens the kiss even as Tegan struggles furiously to free herself, to fling herself away from his loathsome touch, but Time Lord strength is against her, as always.

"No fighting, Tegan," he pulls back just enough to chide her. "Cooperation is the word of the day. In fact," he adds, eyes lighting up with unholy glee, "more than cooperation is called for. I'm in the mood to celebrate, and I order you to celebrate with me." He leans closer and breathes into her ear: "I can't alter your emotions, but I can certainly affect your physical reactions, you already know that. Time for you to make love to one more version of the Doctor, the ultimate version, the best version, the me version."

Pleasure explodes through her, leaving her gasping and helpless, shaking in his arms, unable to hold herself fully upright in its immediate aftermath. "Come along, Tegan," he whispers, lips nibbling delicately at the lobe of her ear. "Make love to me, do it willingly without me forcing it on you, and I can promise you more of the same. Life with me doesn't have to be unpleasant, not all the time."

"As long as I do exactly as you tell me to," she manages to gasp out, fingers digging into his shoulders as much in anger as for support. "Carrot and stick, is that it? Well, forget it," she snarls as strength finally returns to her, carried on a wave of rage that cancels out any lingering after-effects of the Valeyard's manipulation of her brain's pleasure center. "If you want me, it'll have to be rape."

The half-smile and shrug he offers in response promise nothing good. "Very well, then. Have it your way." He swoops in for a brutal kiss, crushing her against him, one hand holding her head tightly, fisted in her hair to keep her in line, the other holding just as tightly to her waist. With his lips still on hers, he spins her away from the railing, holding so tightly to her hair that tears spring into her eyes, shoving her towards the same pile of cushions and blankets that he'd made up for her the last time she'd been on his TARDIS.

She fights him, knowing as always that he's simply playing with her, allowing her the illusion of choice, of hope, and knowing that he'll destroy those illusions as soon as it suits his mood to do so.

When they reach the make-shift bed, he kicks her ankles, pouncing on her before she fully recovers her breath from her sudden collapse. "Fight me," he commands as she stares up at him, wide-eyed. He releases his grip on her head in order to begin wrestling himself out of his clothing, yanking off his jacket and waistcoat in sudden fury, throwing them to the floor while holding her pinned to the bedding with his knee in her midsection.

She squirms beneath his hold, doing her best to roll over and free herself, reaching up with clawed hands to scratch at him, to shove him away, but he only laughs as he deliberately loosens his belt and undoes the zip to his trousers. "This is going to be so much fun," he whispered.

He leans down to capture her hands and oh God, it was happening again, with her helpless beneath him, pinned like a bug in a museum, on display only for his pleasure. She can't help the scream she feels building up inside her, a scream as much of frustration and fury as of fear, and lets it out just as he lowers his face to force a kiss out of her, lets it out shrill and loud…

And then the miracle happens.

She watches him flinch away from the sound, blasting at full throat into his ear, his sensitive, "I-hear-better-than-a-human" ear, watches as he winces and loosens his grip just a fraction, and she uses that momentary distraction to finally shove him off her, scramble out of his hold and tear off into the interior of the TARDIS as fast as her merely human feet will carry her.

Her triumph is as short-lived as she'd feared it would be; it is his TARDIS, after all, his territory and she's running with no idea where she's going or how far she can get before he inevitably catches up with her, or finds whatever hidey-hole she hopes to squirm into. She finds herself facing a long corridor empty of doorways into which she can dart, no off-shoots branching in any direction, just a long, narrow length of emptiness into which she has no hope of losing herself.

She runs anyway, runs until suddenly she finds herself at the end of the corridor and it truly is the end, because instead of turning or ending in "T", there's nothing facing her but a blank wall.

When she turns, the Valeyard is right behind her.

In what she can only later believe to be a deliberate parody of the horror show he'd shared with her from the Doctor's fifth self, he slams her head against the wall, ripping her clothing from her body and forcing himself on her. He's already naked, of course, as much to do what he wanted to her as to continue to remind her of that brutal, overly detailed vision of what her Doctor had been forced to "remember". She half-expects him to drag her off to the TARDIS spa when he finishes with her, but instead he forces her back to the Console Room.

And then he does what he'd threatened earlier; forces her to react to him as if she wanted him, to make love to him, to kiss and caress him as if she truly wanted him, and, in the ultimate humiliation, he goes down on her until she comes, crying out his name as her orgasm rocks her.

And it's his true name that she cries out, the Doctor's Gallifreyan name, the one he'd stopped using in favor of a generic title, a trait that seemed endemic to so many of the Time Lords she'd encountered, up to and including the one holding her hostage now. Using his real name is purest instinct, unpremeditated, and either the best thing she could ever have done or the worst.

Whichever it was, the Valeyard ignores what she says in that final moment, simply climbing back to his feet before and returning control of her body to her, abandoning her to her sobs of self-loathing and hatred, leaving her with a satisfied smile on his face as he re-clothes himself and starts entering coordinates into the TARDIS console.

Humming.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Whew. Glad that's over with. This is the darkest, twistiest, ugliest thing I've ever written. Hope it's worth commenting on (but not flaming; I warned you up front it was going to get ugly.)_


	13. Twelve: Uncharted Territory

**Part Thirteen: Twelve (Uncharted Territory)**

The memories came back to him in an exhilarating rush, all of them at once, nearly overwhelming him, overloading his senses, so many, all at once, all in his mind in glorious living color and sound and scent and sensation…

"Oi, Doc? You all right?"

He managed a nod. The memories were still integrating, each destined to be neatly compartmentalized and placed in their appropriate mental boxes, labeled from "One" to "Eleven." Because of course none of the memories belonged to him, to Twelve, they belonged to all those others who'd come before him.

And now it was his turn to respond to the mental booty call, just like all his predecessors had done before him. What fun!

He turned to his companion. She was staring at him, wide-eyed with concern. A young, pretty brunette, like so many of his past companions. Human, from Earth, specifically from England, although not from London or the immediate London area, and not from the 20th or 21st century. When was she from, where was she from? Right now he couldn't remember even though that memory belonged exclusively to him, not any of his past selves. Those memories shouldn't be so easy to misplace in spite of the considerable amount of data his brain had just uploaded, any single part of which was enough to make Lucy (THAT was her name!) blush if he shared it with her.

Ah, yes, the contents of those memories… a blissful smile marked his features. Images of Tegan Jovanka flashed through his mind, clothed, naked, shouting, smiling, her lips, her legs, her breasts…He really shouldn't be surprised that everything else seemed to fade into insignificance.

The old memories would come back into focus once he'd fully processed the new ones. He dismissed their temporary inaccessibility even as he contemplated ways to convince his newest companion that he had to leave her for a little while. Under no circumstances would he ever explain to her why.

"Doc?" Lucy was waving her hand in front of his eyes now, real concern on her face. "Are you sure you're all right? What happened?"

Before he could answer; before he could do more than open his mouth to try and explain the unexplainable (at least, to a mere Human mind), another wave of memory hit him, smashed over him, brought him literally to his knees.

This time, the memories were not so benign. He could tell that much even though no one detail came through with anything approaching clarity, just wave after wave of images, sounds, emotions, none of them good, none of them moving slowly enough to grasp.

Then the physical pain hit.

He was over a thousand years old, and in all that time, he'd never felt anything like the agony that ripped through him as the cascade of memories ceased. His body was quivering, not quite convulsing but it was nothing he had any power to stop. His teeth chattered in his mouth, his ears were ringing, and a wave of nausea joined the dance as if eager to participate in his body's sudden betrayal. Shaking finally turned to convulsing, and he tasted blood in his mouth as he bit his tongue.

"Doctor? Doctor, what's wrong, what's happening?"

Lucy was shouting at him this time, but it wasn't until he felt her hands on his shoulders that he was able to roll himself onto his side, doing his best to push her away as he did so. "Stay back," he gasped. "I've no idea…"

That was when the world spun around him and he whirled into the darkness, almost grateful for the way the pain receded as quickly as his consciousness.

When he awoke, his physical discomfort was the least of his worries.

As the implanted memories exploded though his mind he felt compelled to examine them, fight it though he knew he must. Each one clicked into place, just as his earlier memories of Tegan had filed themselves so neatly away, but this time the boxes were jumbled, mixed together, no longer an orderly storage area but one great big mess in the depths of his mind.

Chaos.

Even as part of him screamed in denial, the new him that was forming reveled in the chaos, welcomed it, invited it to invade every secret spot and hidden area in his mind until his own thoughts and true memories were eaten up, destroyed, replaced…

…And he rose abruptly to his feet, literally a changed man.

The dark-haired girl staring at him with such concern in her eyes was no longer a valued traveling companion, a friend. She was a stranger, a hindrance.

Seconds later, a corpse.

* * *

><p><em>AN: A short chapter but a crucial one. Coming up: the last few chapters. Stat tuned and don't forget to review!_


	14. Interlude In Three Parts

_**Somewhere In Time and Space**_

"_Doctor? Doctor!"_

_The voice was familiar, female, persistent, insistent, nagging, annoying, pulling him spluttering and protesting from his own mind, back into a reality suddenly made very, very unpleasant by a flood of memories that couldn't possibly be his...or could they?_

"_Doctor!" More insistent, more annoying, more…female? No, not more female, just more identifiable. Female. Young. Gallifreyan._

Romana_._

_The Doctor's eyes popped open. "Stop shouting, Romana, I can hear you perfectly well," he said, frowning up at her. Wait, no, that was wrong. Why was he frowning _up_ at her? She was considerably shorter than he was, at least in this latest incarnation, the one she'd taken on as a childish whim he still couldn't fathom, form and face of a dead princess…_

Focus_, he told himself sternly, and set about getting his thoughts in order. He was frowning up at Romana because he was, for some inexplicable reason, stretched out on the TARDIS floor. Flat on his back, to be exact. He blinked again and raised himself to his elbows and from there to a sitting position, the best he could manage at the moment since his head seemed to want to remain on the floor. At least, he presumed that was why it was acting more like a balloon floating on a string, dizzy and loose and apt to fly away, than a regular humanoid head. They only time _they_ ever floated away was if someone removed them…_

"_Focus, Doctor!" Romana barked at him, as if she could see the confusion rampaging through his mind. Or maybe it was clear on his face; she was fairly good at reading expressions. When she wanted to be. Especially when it was inconvenient._

_Like now. "Romana?" he asked, trying to distract her and his own mind at the same time by pretending he had a Very Important Question to ask her._

"_You've been fed a load of false memories that are still trying to integrate themselves into your neural pathways," she snapped. "The same thing nearly happened to me, only I managed to recognize it as it was happening and stop it."_

_He felt himself offering up a blink of surprise. Well. He actually _had_ had a Very Important Question to ask her. Fancy that. Still, it was no reason for her to sound so very smug about it. She'd stopped it, indeed. More likely that whatever process had been started had been negated by some other factor. Because she was female, or younger, or less traveled than him. Or a blonde…_

_Romana dropped to one knee and reached for his head, efficiently derailing that train of thought before it ran away with him. "Hold still," she barked. She was really into giving the orders today. He'd have to tease her about that sometime. Maybe when his mind was once again his own, which it currently wasn't. She reached for his head, seizing it in both hands and then leaning her forehead against his, eyes closed. He felt his own eyes closing in response, and would have covered her hands with his own if they weren't still serving the extremely important function of keeping him from collapsing back onto the floor._

_He felt her mind brushing against his, the fierceness of her anger at whoever had done this to them—the Valeyard? He "heard" that name whispered in his mind, carried on a load of venom he'd never sensed in Romana before. Anger at his own violation, or hers? And why exactly had she recovered so quickly when his own mind, centuries older and far more complex because of age and experience, was still grappling—poorly—with the problem? Were any of his half-formed theories correct?_

_Time for questions later. Whether that was his thought or hers or some combination didn't matter, since it made sense. Questions later; repair now._

_And not just repair to his own damaged synapses; as Romana probed deeper, chasing after the alien artifacts that had been laid like land-minds within his psyche—nanoprobes!—he began to sense what she already knew; it wasn't just his own mind that had been infected, it was ALL of his minds, every single last one of them, before and after, distant past and unimaginable future, one through twelve, although the damage to Twelve felt worse when he tentatively reached out that far to check. Each of the nanoprobes was connected temporally to the next, a single unbroken chain of miniature time bombs set to go off at precisely the same instant in every one of his minds._

_Diabolical. Insidious. Thank the spirits of the Universe, if such things existed, for Romana. If not for her, each of his individual selves would be dealing with this invasion on their own, too busy fighting their own battles to try and knit together their collective consciousness the way Romana, bless her, was forcing his mind to do, making him the anchor, sending out threads of thought to connect them all, to unite them against their common foe._

"_There. I think that's done it." _

_Romana's voice suddenly sounded far away; wasn't she right there, forehead to forehead, nose to nose? He opened his eyes. No, she'd moved, swaying a bit as she sat back on her heels, looking more exhausted, more drained, than he'd ever seen her. He opened his mouth to sternly tell her to go get some rest, but the words wouldn't come out, nothing would come out and suddenly nothing seemed to be getting in as blackness filled his vision._

_The last thing he heard was a sharp, profane exclamation from Romana before his head hit the floor and he went crashing back into unconsciousness. _

_**Seven**_

"_Professor? What the bloody HELL was that?" Ace was glaring at him, a very angry-looking young woman who'd had her mind violated much as he'd had his own mind violated, or he was very much mistaken._

"_False memories," he replied, keeping it brief. Trying his damndest to stay calm for her when all he wanted to do was fly off the handle for his own sake. That bastard. That sneaky, evil, misbegotten bastard. So this was how he forced himself into existence. There was a small part of the seventh Doctor's psyche that allowed it was a brilliant plan, especially since it seemed to be working. The false memories were still worming their way through his mind, insinuating themselves into his thoughts as if they belonged, as if they'd always belonged._

_Not if he had anything to say about it._

_Ace was still yammering at him, and he had to bite down on a desire to turn and snarl at her, tell her to shut her stupid human yap and just let him THINK. But he knew it wasn't his own reaction, not fully; he was still under the effects of the telepathic assault or whatever it was—it didn't feel like an attack from an outside source, but what else could it be?—and so was Ace, from the looks of her._

"_Ace, go to your room and lie down," he ordered her through clenched teeth, the fingers of one hand snarling themselves into his hair so they wouldn't be tempted to wrap themselves around her fragile human throat and squeeze. "This thing, this attack—I need to be alone to deal with it. Once I've got my own mind under control, my own memories, then I can worry about yours. But. Not. Right. Now."_

_Ace, belligerent and juvenile and unafraid, for once in her young life listened and obeyed and staggered out of the Console Room, wincing and massaging her temples as if the implanted memories were causing her physical pain._

_Well, of course they were. They were causing HIM physical pain, and he had a superior Gallifreyan mind dealing with the problem._

_That thought brought him up short; how, exactly _was_ his mind "dealing" with the problem? Why was he even aware there _was_ a problem?_

_What had just happened to them, to him and to Ace? One moment they'd been chatting—arguing—about some bit of nonsense or other, the next...the next, they'd both been gaping at each other in horror, false memories suddenly recognized..._

_And in his mind, at least, the echoes of a familiar voice ringing between and around and through his thoughts, false memories and real. _

_Romana's voice. A voice from the distant past. Romana long gone into self-imposed exile in E-Space._

_Romana warning him, showing him what to look for, helping him find where the false began and the true ended._

_But what she'd only been able to warn of, _he_ had to fix._

_And soon, before the false memories became inextricably intertwined with the real, his emotions and thoughts so tangled that he could never unweave them._

_Now that Ace was out of the way, now that he wasn't forced to split his concentration, now that he could bend all his considerable mental powers to the problem, he could see exactly what sort of attack he'd been under._

_Nanoprobes, alien, lying dormant in his mind until one very specific moment in time, then activated. And not just in his mind, not just in Ace's, but in the minds of all of his selves, past and future. And Romana's as well, or so he assumed since she was the one to give the alert rather than his fourth self. Who must be going through exactly the same sort of tortuous attempts to purge his own brain of its unwelcome parasites._

_He wanted to wonder how they'd gotten there, when he and Ace and all his other selves had become infected, for lack of a better term, but forced himself to let it go. The "how" could wait, as could the "when" and "where". Of course he already knew the "who" and "why", but having two less questions to answer didn't matter, not right now. Right now, he had to concentrate on expelling the little buggers his hated future self had infected them with before his mind was irreparably damaged._

_Grimly he set to work. Knowing that he wasn't alone in this struggle, that all his past and future selves were going through the exact same thing, should have been a comfort._

_It wasn't._

_**Five**_

_That bastard._

_Those two words kept repeating themselves in the Doctor's mind, over and over again as he grimly worked at expelling the nanoprobes with which he and all his other selves had been infected._

_That bastard._

_When the Doctor felt his mind was finally his own, cleansed, false memories destroyed although never forgotten, but thankfully now to be forever viewed through a filter of disgust and anger rather than insinuated throughout his neural pathways as something seeming so real—images, words spoken, emotions "felt"—only then did he force those two words to stop repeating themselves._

_That bastard._

_Time to stop him. Time to go back to the ends of the Universe, because the only conceivable way all of his selves could have been physically infected by the nanoprobes was, obviously, through physical contact. And logic dictated that, although they could have been infected at different times and in different places, it would have been far more efficient, far simpler, for the Valeyard (that _bastard_) to use a single point of injection._

_Tegan. _


	15. Just The Twelve of Us: All Together Now

Part Fourteen: Just the Twelve of Us (All Together Now)

"Well? What do you think? Aren't human women usually fascinated by the gory details of labor and delivery?"

"You murdered that poor girl in cold blood," Tegan whispered. Just when she thought the Valeyard couldn't possibly have anything more hideous up his sleeve, he sprang another unwelcome shock on her. In this case, it was the revelation, replayed in living color via direct mind-to-mind contact, of how his plan had come to fruition in the body of the Doctor's twelfth—and last—incarnation.

"Yes, snapped her neck like a Christmas goose," he replied, his lips curved in a reminiscent smile. As if the events he'd just forced Tegan to witness were fond memories from a true lifetime ago, instead of ones just created from whole cloth.

From whole cloth and the blood of others. At the expense of Lucy's life, Romana and Peri's trust in the Doctor, and Ace's innocence.

At the expense of Tegan's soul.

Even as she mourned for herself and the others who had been tainted by the Valeyard's plan, he was busy at the TARDIS controls. "What now?" Tegan asked dully. She'd given up expecting to be freed or rescued or even killed at this point; all she expected from the remainder of her miserable life was continued servitude to the smug bastard standing in front of her.

Standing with his back to her.

The one who hadn't told her she wasn't allowed to stick a knife in said back.

Tegan perked up at the thought; one day, maybe soon, he'd grow careless, wouldn't be watching, and on that day…

"I know what you're thinking." He hadn't even turned around as he spoke, just kept his head down and fingers busy with whatever instructions he was punching into the haphazard-looking TARDIS control panel. "But don't bother." He reached up with one hand to tap the side of his head. "Mental link, remember? Even if I've never specifically said, 'Tegan, you're not to attack me when my back is turned,' that command is only a thought away. Less than an eye-blink. We have a permanent connection, my dear, stronger than even your considerable will could overcome."

Before Tegan could either ponder the unexpected compliment or scream in frustration at being foiled before even trying anything, another voice spoke up from behind her.

"It's a pity that doesn't hold true for the rest of us."

Tegan turned, dazed, hope warring with fear that this was just another trick of the Valeyard's, that she wouldn't actually see the fifth Doctor standing behind her, but the Valeyard was turning as well, face twisted in a fearsome grimace, and hope easily outpaced the fear by the time she finished moving.

Her Doctor was there, really there, hands in pockets as he contemplated the two people standing before him. "Hallo, Tegan, sorry it's taken so long to sort this out."

"You!" the Valeyard sputtered as he stared, stunned, at his past self. The one who would always be so much more than he was or ever could be, at least in Tegan's mind. "How did you…"

"You should never have tried to infect Romana. That was a mistake I'm frankly surprised you made." He stood absolutely still next to the stupid pile of blankets and pillows, no expression on his face as he spoke. "Although, now that I think on it, perhaps not. Your arrogance was always one of your most prominent character traits."

"Doctor," Tegan whispered, feeling tears falling from her eyes and not caring as she rushed to his side. Or tried to, anyway; the Valeyard's hand on her arm, fingers biting cruelly into her flesh, kept her where she was. Imprisoned.

"Stand still," he snapped, eyes on the intruder standing before them.

Tegan was forced to obey, but her eyes flashed defiance as she tilted her head to glare up at him. "You've lost, give it up and let me go before things go even worse for you than they already have."

When the Valeyard had grabbed her, the fifth Doctor took a step forward as if to intervene, paused, then with every appearance of reluctance, returned to where he'd been standing. But his face was hard, his eyes narrowed in anger, and Tegan saw the muscles clenching in his cheeks before he spoke again, still in that same, meditative tone. "You do see that error, don't you?"

The Valeyard offered up a casual shrug, but Tegan could feel the tension in his body. "I suppose she recognized the false memories for what they were? It was a calculated risk, infecting her, but I admit, I couldn't resist. Obviously it didn't matter in the end, since here I am and here I shall remain."

"Oh, I don't think so," was the Doctor's reply, his voice cool and level but his eyes flashing fire as the Valeyard stroked Tegan's arm possessively. "Do let's keep this civilized, shall we? Let Tegan go."

"Or what? What, precisely, shall you do, Doctor?" He spat out the title with a mixture of hatred and contempt. "Why should I surrender her to you after we've grown so…close…to one another?"

As if he wanted to make sure the Doctor knew exactly what he was implying, the Valeyard deliberately reached up with his free hand and brushed the back of his fingers across Tegan's jaw line and up her cheek. She felt herself flushing with shame; why couldn't he have left her some small shred of dignity?

Because he was the Valeyard, of course. He was evil, pure and simple, born from destruction and wreaking havoc through space and time when he wasn't making it his personal mission in life to torture her.

She lowered her head, but not before seeing the Doctor's eyes narrow into two vibrant chips of pure ice. With slow deliberation, he turned his head and looked at the pile of pillows and blankets that the Valeyard referred to as her "nest", and she saw the revulsion in his eyes before she closed her own in shame.

She knew she shouldn't feel that way, that it wasn't her fault she'd been used and forced to use others for the Valeyard's purposes, but it didn't stop the emotion she'd been trying so hard to suppress from overwhelming her.

"Brave heart, Tegan," she heard the Doctor murmur, and mutely shook her head in response; her heart was far too broken at the moment to allow any semblance of bravery. The Doctor knew the full extent of her disgrace now; how could he possibly still care for her after she'd allowed herself to be used not only to harm him but as the Valeyard's plaything?

"Yes, yes, a brave heart for our brave heroine," the Valeyard taunted impatiently, squeezing Tegan closer to his side and interrupting her downward-spiraling thoughts. "And our equally brave hero, come alone into the lion's den to save the day. What, no back up, no page or squire to stand at your spur?"

Tegan waited for the Doctor to make his move, and was filled with disappointment when he seemed content to continue trading barbs with his evil alter-ego, merely shrugging as if the Valeyard's sneering words were of no consequence. "Why not? Any one of us could defeat you, and you know it. We could snuff you out like that." He snapped his fingers contemptuously, and Tegan winced at the reminder that the Doctor could be just as ruthless as her captor if circumstances called for it. The fact that he actively sought alternatives to such ruthlessness whenever possible was one of the many things what set them apart.

"Ah, but would you be willing to go through Tegan to get to me?" the Valeyard countered, his voice tight with triumph. He shook her, just once, just enough to remind them both that he still had a tight grip on her and no intention of letting her go. "It seems to me that I'm the one holding all the cards, and you're the one doing all the gambling. I advise you to leave the table. You're bluffing."

"Am I?" the Doctor asked with an arched eyebrow. "Do you really think I would come here if I were only bluffing?"

"Actually, I do," the Valeyard responded. "Tell me: you haven't tried to wrestle my little pet away from me." He cocked his head to one side. "Why is that? How, exactly, did you get here? If your TARDIS had materialized inside mine, you'd have had to come from the interior door and either Tegan or I would have seen you. And we both know transmats don't work inside a TARDIS, so I ask again; how, exactly did you get here? Or," his eyes glimmered with sudden triumph, "are you truly here at all? Don't think I haven't noticed how little you've moved since your sudden appearance. Hologram, is it?"

"Not quite."

Tegan's heart, which had begun to sink into her boots, suddenly leapt into her throat as the Doctor moved forward one, two, three deliberate steps before coming to a sudden stop. "It was merely a matter of coordination if you will. A certain lack of movement on my part was necessary."

"Necessary for wh—?" Tegan demanded, her voice muffled into sudden silence as the Valeyard slapped his hand across her mouth.

"For this."

The voice wasn't that of the fifth Doctor, nor was he the one who had spoken. It was his sixth self, who'd appeared as suddenly as his predecessor, simply winking into existence out of nowhere while Tegan tried to grasp what she was seeing. Before she could fully process his presence, another voice spoke, this time on the Doctor's opposite side, where Four had suddenly popped into existence.

"For us to bring an end to this travesty."

As quickly as that the room seemed filled with Doctors, every one from One to Eleven, arrayed in a semi-circle in front of the two of them. All in order, Tegan's dazed mind noticed, a lovely spectrum of Doctors, each standing in exactly the same position as "her" Doctor, Five; hands clasped in front of them, feet slightly spread apart as if they were bracing their collective selves against the pitch and sway of a sailing ship, eyes resolute, focused laser-sharp on the Valeyard's face.

Which twisted into a mask of rage as he took in the semi-circle of Doctors facing him. "Whatever it is you think you're about to do to me, I'd advise you to think again," he snarled, yanking Tegan tightly against his body, trapping her arms against her sides with one arm and moving his free hand up to grip her throat in a near stranglehold. Her cry of pain was choked back as his fingers pressed painfully into her soft flesh, and she felt panic once again taking hold; no matter what the Doctor's plan was, she was terrified it wouldn't come to fruition until after she'd already paid the price with her life.

A low humming sound filled the air; she felt the hairs on her arms rising as if in the presence of a strong electrical current, but whatever was about to follow was overwhelmed by blackness and pain as the Valeyard's fingers continued to tighten on her throat, driving her into an oblivion she could only pray would be temporary.


	16. And Then There Was One: No Way Out

"Tegan?"

_(Tegan? Who was Tegan? Oh wait, that's me, isn't it.)_

"Tegan? Can you hear me?"

_(Of course I can hear you. Go away)_

"Tegan! Wake up, there's a good girl!"

That last time did it, where the first two attempts had failed. Tegan opened her eyes, blinked a few times to bring them into focus, and found herself gazing into the Doctor's anxious face.

_Her_ Doctor, the fifth in the series, best one of the lot, better than the original and all sequels before and after. Blondest hair, bluest eyes, nattiest dresser…

"What happened?" she croaked, then coughed a little at the dryness of her throat, the slight soreness that accompanied her words. The way her thoughts were wandering, she supposed she must have hit her head, but it was definitely her throat that hurt the worst.

"The Valeyard, I'm sorry to say," he replied as he reached down to help her to a sitting position. She was lying on the floor, she realized; the floor of the TARDIS. Not the Valeyard's TARDIS, but the Doctor's more familiar, cozy white control room.

"How did we get here?" she asked as she allowed her gaze to wander over familiar, much-missed features before returning her eyes to the Doctor's very welcome face. "What did that bastard do?"

"Trapped us, I'm afraid," he replied, sounding wry and apologetic as he ducked his chin in a familiar gesture of chagrin. When she tried to pull herself to her knees, he put his arm around her shoulder, gently keeping her where she was. "You're still weak, give it a little time."

"Trapped us where? In your TARDIS? How could he do that?" Her memory was still hazy; she recalled the sight of all twelve Doctors pitting their considerable mental powers against those of the Valeyard, the feel of his hands on her throat…then nothing until she woke up here.

The Doctor glanced around, then back down at her. "Because it's not actually my TARDIS, it's more like…your memory of my TARDIS."

She stared up at him. "My memory? How can that be? Unless…" her voice trailed off as she considered the possibilities, then shook her head. "No, it's impossible, we can't be..."

"Can't be trapped inside your mind? I'm afraid that's exactly where we are."

Trapped inside her mind. With the Doctor. Tegan felt the dizziness, the sense of disorientation, growing, and fought it back fiercely. Now was not the time to go all Victorian Miss and take a fit of the vapors. "How did you get in here?" she asked. "The Valeyard said I was cut off from everyone's mind but his!"

The Doctor had risen to his feet once she seemed willing to stay put, and although she missed the comfort of his arm around his shoulder, she was absurdly reassured when he tucked his hands into his pockets and gazed down at her with the expression she'd come to know as his "I'm-working-things-out-right-now-but-don't-worry-it'll-all-turn-out-right" expression.

"We realized that when we finally were able to put all our minds to the problem," he agreed, his voice solemn. "But he left us a…loophole, if you will, by the way he attempted to elude us, to avoid his dissolution."

Dissolution. Tegan felt a shiver run its way up her spine. It sounded so final that she felt just the tiniest spark of pity for her erstwhile captor. _He deserved it_, she reminded herself fiercely. _After everything he's done to me, to the Doctor, he _deserved_ it._

The Doctor was still speaking and she forced herself to pay attention rather than wallowing in her own misery. "He tried to escape here, into your mind, using the mental connection he'd forced on you. Once here, I believe he planned to take over, perhaps even pretend to be you although," he glanced at her from beneath his eyelashes and offered up a faint grin, "he'd have a hard time of that, I think.

She managed an answering grin, but it faded as a fit of the shivers overtook her. She'd escaped eternal slavery by the slimmest of margins, and the drop of pity she'd felt shriveled up and died, the way he, apparently, had.

Better to focus on other things. Such as… "So how did you get here, then?"

"When he established the pathway he intended to use between your mind and his, we sensed his intention and I was able to block him, keeping him from following." He grimaced. "For a brief period of time, our minds were linked, and I was able to get here ahead of him. However, I was forced to close down the neural pathway in order to keep him from trying again while my other selves…dealt with him."

"So how are we going to get back out?" Tegan demanded, fighting down a rising urge to scream hysterically. "Are you saying I can't just—what, wake up and send you home?"

"The Valeyard put you into a kind of catatonic state in order to overwrite your mind with his own," the Doctor explained, sounding reluctant, and who could blame him? "You're unconscious, Tegan, except for this little spark here with me, and I'm afraid there's nothing you or I can do anything to reverse it from the inside, so to speak."

"So that just means the rest of your selves should be working on it, right? From the outside?"

"Well, yes, of course they are, I'm certain it'll only be a short time before they find a solution." His words were confident, but his eyes…there was just a hint of doubt, there and gone so quickly she might have missed it if she hadn't been searching his face for just such a clue as to the truth of their situation.

"Don't lie to me, Doc," she said softly. "We could be trapped in here for a long time, couldn't we? Maybe forever?"

"Forever is a long time, even for a Time Lord," he replied, his tone light, then abandoned his attempts to soothe her as she kept her steady gaze on his. "Fine," he sighed, "very well. It's possible we'll be trapped here for a fairly long period of time. But," he added, holding up an admonishing finger, "it's equally likely we'll be out of here within minutes."

That was it; no more sitting on the floor for Tegan Elizabeth Jovanka, thank you very much. She managed to get to her knees, and the Doctor removed his hands from his pockets in order to help her to her feet. She ignored the dizziness, tried not to sway and failed, but he was there, bringing her into his embrace until she felt able to stand on her own.

She pulled away after a moment; now wasn't the time to indulge herself, no matter how comforting she found it to be in his arms. Even if it was just in her own mind, everything felt and looked real; the crisp linen of his jacket, the greenness of the celery on his lapel, the way her high heels ever-so-slightly pressed her toes against one another…

She looked down at herself at the thought, then froze as she realized what she was wearing. It was her air hostess uniform of old, one she hadn't so much as laid eyes on since the early days of her travels with the Doctor.

Or since she got the sack and spent aimless days visiting family while she wrestled with the problem of what to do with her life. Then, of course, the Doctor had popped back up, and this time she'd been able to let go of the one last thing connecting her with home, happy to try on whatever the wardrobe room had to offer.

If there were any doubt that the Doctor hadn't told her the truth, the stupid purple skirt and jacket drove it away. Especially since she'd burned the damned thing one drunken summer night after getting the sack from the airline, with her cousins egging her on the entire time.

"Great," she muttered. "Trapped in my own mind in this bloody awful uniform."

She hadn't actually hated it, certainly not the first time she'd put it on, expecting to go off on an exciting—but completely Earthbound—adventure. But now…ugh. Now all it did was remind her of what she could no longer look forward to having, either a life of adventure or the normal life she'd longed for since the Mara's invasion of her mind started this whole cursed course of events.

Alice down the rabbit hole, and the Valeyard blocking it up behind her, walling her in, imprisoning her in her own mind…

…but at least she had company. At least she wasn't alone.

She'd started trembling as the seriousness of her current situation hit her, and only came back to herself as she felt the Doctor's comforting arms around her, holding her close. This time she allowed it, wallowed in it for a several minutes before gently extracting herself from his hold.

"You said there's just this spark, that I'm just a spark of consciousness," she said, working very hard to keep her voice from trembling. "I still don't understand why you can't just hypnotize me and wake me up."

The Doctor shoved his hands back into his pockets and began a slow stroll around the Console Room. "Tegan, basically the Valeyard took your consciousness and shoved it into a box—a box you visualized to look like the TARDIS," he explained, his voice patient. And lecturing. But she gritted her teeth and managed not to scream at him to get on with it. "I managed to get in here with you, but we can't use the same method to get back out. No matter how many times you or I jiggle the lever on the console, the TARDIS door won't open. Not from this side. Not without giving the Valeyard a way in, if he's somehow managed to survive the dissolution of his body."

That word again. Tegan repressed a shiver as she glowered at him, crossing her arms defensively before turning her attention to the interior door. She jerked her chin at it before turning back to face him. "What about that, then? Can we at least leave this room and see what else is inside this mental TARDIS of mine?"

He smiled. "We can certainly try," he agreed, reaching out and offering her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Shall I lead the way?"

She nodded and followed as he reached for the simple latch. He hesitated just for a split second, as if afraid to disappoint her if it didn't open, then turned it.

Tegan found that she'd been holding her breath; she let it out with a relieved whoosh when the door did, indeed open. She peeked over the Doctor's shoulder and was encouraged by the length of corridor that led away from the Console Room. "Right, then, time to go exploring!" she said brightly.

**oOo**

Half an hour later her flare of hope had been well and truly quashed. Oh, there were plenty of other doors along that corridor and the ones that branched away from it, but every single one of them led only back to the Console Room. No medical bay, no bedrooms, no wardrobe room, not so much as a kitchen or loo or storage closet.

"Tegan, we'll get out of this, you know we will," the Doctor was saying when she flatly refused to try again after the tenth—or was it the twelfth?—time they'd found themselves back in that bare, white room. "You can't give up…"

"Can't I just?" she asked, rounding on him furiously. "We're stuck here, probably for eternity, or until my body d-dies! And we die with it!"

He was at her side in an instant, taking her into his arms and raining comforting kisses on her bowed head. "There, brave heart, it'll be all right, when have I ever let you down?" he murmured, and she pounded at his shoulder in a half-hearted manner before allowing herself to give in to the urge to cry.

He held her as she sobbed, hands rubbing soothing circles on her back, body pressed closely against hers, murmuring comforting nonsense words into her hair. Gradually she calmed down, the tears drying up, sobs trailing away into hiccups. She reached up and blindly pulled her hat off her head, using it to wipe her nose before simply dropping it on the floor.

The Doctor continued to cradle her in his arms, reaching up to wipe away the last of the tears with his thumb as he gazed down into her eyes. "It _will_ be all right, you believe me, right?" he asked with a faint smile, his hands tracing gentle circles around her shoulders and down her back.

She managed a nod but couldn't get her lips to curve into even the faintest ghost of a smile. When he leaned down and made to kiss her, however, she pulled away. "Not now, Doc, I just can't!"

He let her go when she pushed herself out of his arms, but she fancied the faint frown on his face held a note of petulance to it. Well, of course he'd expect her to want to drown her sorrows in a rousing session of sex, wasn't that what she'd been doing ever since her exile? But this was different; no matter how real everything felt, it was still just their consciousnesses trapped together in a stupid box in her mind, and the idea of pretending they were real just gave her a case of the heebie-jeebies.

And she wasn't even sure why. After all, it was still the Doctor, the man—Time Lord, whatever—she loved with all her heart. And if he wanted to try and take her mind off the situation by doing what came naturally, why was she so resistant to the idea?

_Because this is just too much,_ she told herself as she followed his earlier example and meandered aimlessly around the Console Room. She rested her fingers lightly against the console, trailing them over buttons and levers as she moved, letting her mind just…rest. Not thinking, not feeling, just existing.

That lasted for about two circuits of the room, with the Doctor watching silently from near the interior door. She stopped in front of him. "So. Maybe if you go through one of those doors by yourself it'll lead somewhere different."

He gazed at her quizzically. "Tegan, I don't think…"

"Doc, listen, we have to try everything we can or we'll go mad in here waiting for your other selves to free us!" she exclaimed, laying a hand on his arm and nodding toward the door. "So, try! Please?"

He nodded. "Of course." But as he turned to leave, there it was again; that flash of petulance, of annoyance, that she hadn't seen him wear since she'd traveled on the real TARDIS, back in the day. The one that told her she was getting on his last nerve, a place she'd once delighted in dancing on just because it meant he was paying attention to her.

So, he thought she was wasting their time. Fine. But, as he'd already pointed out, time was all they had at the moment, and if she had to spend an eternity in the Console Room, she really would go barking mad, Doctor or no Doctor. As he left the room, she shut the door behind him, leaning her head against it just for a moment, closing her eyes against the terror and desperation.

"Tegan?"

The voice came from behind her. Not the Doctor's voice, but one she would never in her life, no matter how long she lived, ever forget.

"You!"

The form that faced her was flickering, insubstantial as a ghost, but horribly, dreadfully familiar. As familiar as the loathsome voice she'd immediately recognized, no matter how hollow and echoey it might be. "The Doctor said he blocked you, kept you from getting into my mind!" She knew her voice was shrill, that hysteria was incipient and about to overwhelm her, but she could do nothing to stop it. "What are you doing here? Get out!"

"Tegan, wait! You have to listen to me, I'm not who you think I am!"

Tegan paused in the act of fleeing the Console Room; in all the time she'd been forced to endure the Valeyard's company, she'd never heard that particular note of pleading in his voice, even when he was pretending to be the Doctor on their first meeting. Hell, she would have placed money on him not being able to manage to make his mouth spit out anything that wasn't arrogant or degrading.

She held her place, damning her for a cat but unable to leave until the mystery was resolved. "If you're not him, then who are you?"

"My name is Raljas. I don't know if you realize this, but the Valeyard isn't in the Doctor's body any more. I'm the Time Lord he stole his current form from."

She was silent as she digested this remarkable statement, but as was generally true for Tegan, the silence only lasted seconds at best. "If he stole your body, then why aren't you dead? And how did you get here, the Doctor said he closed the pathway or something after he got in, to keep _you_ out!"

"That's why I can't fully manifest; I'm trapped partway through the neural interface the Valeyard opened between our minds. I was just able to slip in as he came through, and it took so much of my energy that this is the first I've been able to talk to you. Tegan, you're in terrible danger…"

"The Valeyard isn't here," she interrupted through gritted teeth. "Unless you're actually him and you're just trying to trick me into trusting you so you can finish the job you started and take over my body!"

As she spoke she edged around the console, keeping her eyes on the hovering form. He hadn't moved since he'd first appeared, was still near the TARDIS' entrance, but still. Never turn your back on an enemy was sound advice.

"Tegan, you have to believe me, I am who I say I am, Raljas of Gallifrey, Fourth Librarian-Assistant to the Under-Secretary to the Keeper of the Matrix. But the Valeyard _is_ here."

He was staring at her with an intensity that was frightening; she wanted to look away, but was afraid of what he'd do if she didn't maintain eye contact. He'd already done so much damage…Still, there was something about him, something that made her pause, something stronger than simple curiosity.

Could he be telling the truth? It wouldn't surprise her if the Valeyard had stolen another body, just like the Master, when his own had run out of lives to regenerate into. But was he telling the truth, or was it simply a ruse to get her to trust him, so he could use her against the Doctor somehow?

She finally forced herself to break eye contact in order to give him a good, long looking over, head to toe, as best she could. He looked exactly like the Valeyard, even in the elaborate Gallifreyan robes he was now sporting, but there was something about him, something Tegan couldn't put her finger on, not at first.

Then it hit her. His eyes. They held none of the cold disdain of the Valeyard's normal expression, they were instead filled with a very human-looking distress. There were new lines on his face as well, as if a lifetime's weariness and pain had settled on him all at once. In spite of his insubstantial form, she could see those small details; his face held the most clarity, as if he was a ghost spending all his ectoplasm on making sure his nose was the right shape and size and not caring if he had feet or not.

She shook her head, uncertain; the Valeyard had been able to manipulate her before, hypnotize her, but if he was doing that now, why was she feeling any doubt at all? Wouldn't she simply believe every word he said?

It was a pickle, plain and simple. "If you're Raljas," she said slowly, "then how did you survive? Why wasn't your mind destroyed when the Valeyard took over your body?"

"He tried," was the simple response, but there was a world of pain behind his eyes, lacing his voice, that pierced Tegan to the core. She knew that pain, had felt it herself every time the Valeyard whispered in her mind or forced her to do what he wanted, every time he made her sleep with him…

She was inclined to believe him. She might be sorry later, but right now, she had to admit that she was very strongly inclined to believed him. "So if you're Raljas, if you are who you say you are, then where is the Valeyard?" she asked, knowing intuitively she wasn't going to like the answer.

Nor did she. "I think you know," Raljas replied with a sad smile.

She shivered. She _did_ know; she just didn't want to admit it. "It's the Doctor," she finally said, forcing herself to say the words she wanted with all her heart and soul not to be true. "It's not him. It's the Valeyard pretending to be him. He wasn't destroyed, he just…came here…that's what you're telling me." With a glimmer of defiance, she added: "And you just expect me to believe that on your say so…"

"You know I'm telling the truth," Raljas replied, his voice filled with a combination of tenderness and inexorable ruthlessness that it seemed all Time Lords could manage with ease. "Some part of you must have sensed that, or he'd already have destroyed you and taken your body for his own. Think about it," he urged her. "You're still listening to me, and if you truly believed I was the Valeyard, you'd have run away from me and sought out the Doctor. But you haven't done that, and you know why."

"Tegan! Get away from him!"

The interior door to the TARDIS had opened while Tegan and Raljas were absorbed in their conversation-confrontation-whatever. The door had opened and either the Doctor or the Valeyard had just entered the room, depending on which person Tegan believed.

The Doctor or the Valeyard? He was urging her away from the ghostly figure, warning her that it wasn't who it said it was, that instead it was exactly who it appeared to be: The Valeyard, trying to trick her so he could take over. She needed to move away right now, come over to him, the Doctor (or the Valeyard) and let him protect her.

Which one should she believe? Tegan realized with a feeling akin to despair that they both sounded sincere, that they both offered believable stories.

But only one could be telling the truth.

Tegan held her head in her hands as she tried to think. Could she devise some kind of test to prove to herself, once and for all, which one it was? No, there was no time and besides, the Valeyard had been rooting around inside her head for months now. He'd been privy to every private thought, every emotion and memory her mind contained. He could pass any test she came up with, if her mind were capable of working fast and well enough to actually try and devise such a test. Besides, how could she test Raljas (or the Valeyard)? She knew nothing about him, and he could easily pretend to an equal lack of knowledge about her.

She stepped back, just one step, neither toward the Doctor (the Valeyard?) nor fully away from Raljas (the Valeyard?). She kept the console between her and the two of them, looking from one to the other, knowing that her fear and confusion were writ clearly upon her features.

Raljas/the Valeyard had gone silent, merely hovering there, watching her. The Doctor/the Valeyard was still urging her, his voice cajoling, to join him.

Decision time. Taking a deep breath, Tegan gave each man one last, measuring look…

…before deliberately stepping closer to Raljas. "I believe him."

The Doctor's expression, gentle and cajoling, morphed into a snarl of rage. With clenched fists he took a single step into the room; Tegan moved back, away from him, swallowing her terror as best she could.

Because as dangerous as he'd been before, she knew the Valeyard would be like the proverbial trapped rat now that she'd unmasked him. Now that he no longer had an excuse to pretend to be other than he truly was.

She forced herself to look at him, even though it was nearly the last thing she wanted to do. He still looked like her Doctor, still sounded like him…but the eyes had gone cold and vicious, the mouth tightened into a hard line as he continued into the room, glaring back and forth between the two of them before focusing on the other Time Lord's insubstantial form. "So, Raljas. What have you accomplished, really?" he sneered, stalking closer, step by deliberate step. "You wormed your way in here, tagging along like a parasite, but instead of freeing yourself, all you've done is change one cell for another."

Tegan inched her way toward the interior door, even though she knew there was no escaping that way. Like Raljas, she was trapped. She grimaced in disgust; how could she have been so easily fooled? Still, some part of her must have known all along it wasn't really the Doctor, else why spend so much time ducking his embrace?

"Going somewhere, Tegan my love?"

She gritted her teeth at the insincere endearment. "Away from you," she ground out, only to hear him chortle in response.

"Really? When all doors open only here? When all paths lead only back to me? Give it up, Tegan. Make it easy on yourself."

He hadn't bothered to turn and look at her, still focused on Raljas, who remained silent in his enemy's presence, head bowed as if in defeat. And why not? He was, by his own admission, trapped, unable to fully manifest, and he'd been under the Valeyard's thumb for far longer than Tegan had. Two regenerations' worth of mental imprisonment.

Hardly an ally with much to offer outside his initial warning to her. For which, she reminded herself firmly, she would be eternally grateful. Even if she spent the rest of her life, however long or short it might be, locked in some kind of mental combat with the Valeyard, at least she'd not have gone down without a fight. At least now she had the _chance_ to fight, since it was obvious that here, inside her own head, the Valeyard was forced into trickery and seduction rather than the use of brute force he'd wielded against her in the real world. Something else to be grateful for.

These thoughts flitted through her mind as she squared her shoulders. "Piss off," was all she said aloud.

That startled a laugh out of Raljas, which in turn earned her a glare as the Valeyard finally deigned to turn his head and look at her. She'd stopped at the door, her hands fisted by her sides, longing to open the door and make a run for it and knowing just how futile an act that would ultimately turn out to be.

The Valeyard would just drag her back here after he'd finished dealing with Raljas, so she decided to spare herself that particular humiliation. Since she refused to cooperate in her own destruction, the Valeyard would have to do all the heavy lifting himself.

Too sodding bad for him.

She'd be damned if she'd give any more of herself to him than he'd already taken.

Her thoughts were interrupted when the Valeyard abruptly turned his back on Raljas and strode over to her, grasping her arms and spinning her so that her lower back slammed painfully up against the jutting edge of the console. She cried out, only once, then bit her lips and forced herself to keep shut.

"Well, Tegan, unfortunately for you, Raljas has spoiled my plans to seduce you into doing what I want," he growled. "Believe me, it would have been much more pleasant if he hadn't shown up, if you still thought I was the Doctor." His lip curled in a sneer. "Your lover."

"Do your worst," she replied through clenched teeth. "I'm betting you wanted my cooperation because it would make it easier on _you_, not on me, so I'm glad Raljas got here in time to warn me about you." She offered up what she hoped came across as a defiant glare. "I'll resist you to my last breath, I'll make you fight for every inch, every scrap of my mind you need to take over my body." She thrust her head forward, eyes boring into his. "Bring it on."

He leaned down and whispered in her ear: "As you wish."

She fought him, struggled to free herself, kicked and would have clawed if he wasn't holding her arms tight against the various protruding levers and buttons and whatnots on the TARDIS console.

He laughed at her struggles, his face inches from her own. The bastard wasn't even breaking a sweat, wasn't doing anything more strenuous than simply holding her down.

Waiting for her to tire herself out so he could just stroll right in and take what he wanted.

As she contemplated that unwelcome certainty, a stray thought drifted through her mind, the voice not her own. She almost ignored it; she'd heard that hated voice all too many times. But this time, the words were encouraging rather than nasty, hateful taunts.

_You're winning, Tegan. Don't give up. But remember; this is your _mind_ in which we've been entrapped. You can fight him with more than just the appearance of your body._

_How?!_ she cried out in silent, agonized response, but Raljas' voice had gone silent.

_You can fight him with more than just the appearance of your body. This is your mind in which we've been entrapped._ He was trying to tell her something, but she wasn't sure what. Yes, it wasn't really her body that was fighting so hard to free itself from the Valeyard's grip, it was just an image of her body, a symbol…

A thought made itself known, this time her own thought, not a helpful hint from Raljas. They were inside her mind. _Her_ mind, not the Valeyard's. The one thing he'd never been able to manipulate was her actual thoughts; her memories, yes, her emotions, and her voice and body, but he'd never stopped her from thinking what she wanted, from using her imagination…

From using her _mind_. This was all in her head, but she was reacting as if it was real. She didn't need to try and push him away from her physically; if the reality around her existed only in her head, then all she needed to do…

…was push him away mentally. She concentrated with all her might, closing her eyes against the leering face so close to hers, allowing her body to go limp…

Her eyes flew open, her mouth morphing into a surprised "O" as the Doctor-Valeyard's form went flying, crashing into the wall before sliding to the floor in a limp heap. "I did it," she said, her voice incredulous even to her own ears as she pushed herself up and away from the console.

She took a single step toward the Valeyard's unconscious form before her legs gave out and she collapsed to the floor, head spinning, vision blurring…

…but before she completely lost consciousness, the last thing she saw was Raljas' insubstantial form merging with that of the Valeyard's false Doctor, the last thing she heard was his voice ringing in her mind: "Good-bye. I promise, we'll never trouble you again."

Then everything went dark.

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><p><em>AN: Thanks for reading. One chapter and one epilogue left to go on this epic!_


	17. Alone At Last In My Own Head

_A/N: Here it is, the penultimate chapter of this modest little story. Enjoy._

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><p><strong>Part Sixteen: Alone At Last (In My Own Head)<strong>

"Tegan?"

Lord, not again. She moaned softly and turned her head away from that gentle, cajoling voice. She couldn't go through this again, the strain and uncertainty…it wasn't fair. Why couldn't he just leave her alone?

"Tegan, can you hear me?"

She opened her eyes, forced herself to look at him. Up, since she was, once again, lying down. On the TARDIS floor? No, a quick glance told her she was stretched out on a bed in the medical bay. Well, that was an improvement, but was it a real improvement or just proof that she could now find other rooms in her TARDIS mind palace?

"Go away," she moaned, allowing her eyes to close again. Her head ached, worse than when she'd been forced into a medical coma by UNIT a seeming lifetime ago.

"Now, Tegan, you don't really mean that."

Of course she meant it, she hated him, wanted him out of her mind…wait, hadn't that already happened? With that thought, Tegan cracked an eyelid, studying the face hovering above her.

It looked like the Doctor—blonde hair, blue eyes, celery on the lapel, cricketing sweater and question marks on his shirt collars—but was it _really_ the Doctor? How could she tell when she'd been so easily fooled before? "Doctor? Is that you? Is it—really you?" she croaked, searching his features for some sign of the Valeyard lurking behind the concerned blue eyes.

He offered a small smile. "I certainly hope so, Tegan. The question is, is it really _you_? No lingering aftereffects? No one else hiding inside your mind, hm?"

She felt her lips tighten into an annoyed frown. "Look, I'm the one who just had reality yanked out from under her," she snapped, heaving herself into a sitting position. "You don't get to question my identity, not when the Valeyard's just spent the last however long it's been pretending to be you!" Then she did a double take. "Wait, no one else…you mean you know?" she gasped. "You know he was there in my head, the Valeyard?"

"There and gone again," the Doctor pronounced with a satisfied smile. "Welcome back."

Tegan, however, was still wary, still suspicious as she continued to study his features for some clue that she could trust him. "You still haven't given me any proof this is really real.".

"Will we do?"

That voice came from somewhere to her left, and she looked up to find the Doctor's sixth self peering down at her. "We're still here, Tegan. Proof enough for you?"

She gaped at him in shock, still trying to process his presence when another voice piped up.

"All of us." That was Seven, crowding in next to Six, jostling him a bit with his elbow while wearing an innocent, "oh-did-I-crowd-you-so-sorry" expression on his face.

In moments she was surrounded by Doctors, eleven of them crowding around her bed and all speaking at once, asking how she felt and did she feel more secure about reality now that they were all there and things she couldn't even make out in the general din.

She felt a smile working its way across her mouth and finally gave in to it. Even though she felt the way she had after Omega had imprisoned her, shaky and not firmly a part of her own body, paradoxically she'd never felt better. Icing on the cake: a surreptitious glance downward offered the reassurance that, no matter what else was going on, she was no longer wearing the hated air hostess uniform. She was back in the real world, surrounded by living proof that her belief in that was true.

Because there was absolutely no way the Valeyard could ever make it seem like he was two Doctors, let alone a roomful of them.

The smile vanished as she suddenly realized that she was, indeed, facing a roomful of Doctors.

Doctors who were there because of her, because of what she'd done. Done because of the Valeyard and his obsession with ensuring his existence, but still. She'd been the one. She'd slept with almost all of the men standing in front of her for the sole purpose of advancing the Valeyard's twisted plans.

Suddenly she felt sick, nausea roiling in her gut, a hot flush spreading across her chest and face, saliva gathering in the back of her throat as she realized what she'd done – and that she now faced the consequences of her actions. Actions she'd become resigned to only ever being known by the Valeyard.

She'd deliberately set out to seduce these men – most of them, all but one or two of them – and she'd succeeded beyond her wildest, filthiest dreams and not because of her own secret desires but because of the Valeyard.

She bolted from the bed and barely made it to the loo before slamming the door behind her and emptying her stomach of whatever contents remained.

She huddled over the toilet for a long time after, afraid to leave the spare comfort of the tiny cubicle, the six square feet that held only the porcelain bowl and a small white sink on the wall next to her head.

How could she go back out there, how could she face those eleven men she'd used and betrayed?

How could they stand to look at her, knowing that she'd allowed the Valeyard to turn her into a weapon against them, knowing that he'd used her body as ruthlessly as he'd used her mind?

Knowing that he'd forced himself on her and forced pleasure out of her the last time he'd touched her that way?

She lowered her head to her crossed arms and allowed the tears to fall, sobbing quietly, soundlessly as despair mixed with shame washed over her. Her stomach had settled but the rest of her body seemed determined to punish her; the foul taste in her mouth, the trembling in her limbs, the dull headache behind her eyes, the uneven stuttering of her heart in her chest as her sobs deepened and threatened to rob the breath from her body.

Wouldn't it be better if they did, if she somehow cried herself into oblivion? Wouldn't the Doctor, all of his lovely selves, be better off without her in the Universe to muck things up for them all?

The sound of the door opening barely registered on her consciousness, but the feel of arms about her shoulders and lips pressing themselves to the top of her head certainly did.

It was Five, of course, she didn't even need to look up to verify that, just turned her head and sobbed into his chest until she'd finally cried herself out. The feel of his stick of celery clutched beneath her fingers was absurdly comforting, almost as soothing as the feel of his hand rubbing her back and the low murmur of his voice as he whispered words she couldn't understand against the top of her head.

When she could trust herself to speak without bursting into another round of sobbing, she murmured, "I'm sorry," against his chest, too worn out and emotionally wrought to move. Besides, the sound and feel of his double heartbeat beneath her cheek was as soothing as his hand on her back, his cheek resting against the top of her head.

"Never apologize for being human, Tegan," the Doctor chastised her. "I imagine that storm's been brewing inside you for quite a long time now, hmm?"

She nodded, still unable to meet his eyes even though he'd lifted his head from hers. She imagined she could feel his gaze but kept her head tightly against his chest.

When she didn't speak, the Doctor cleared his throat and slid his hands around until they were grasping her arms. She tensed, knowing what was coming and feeling far too emotionally raw to face it just yet. She shook her head "no" but he ignored her, pulling her gently but firmly away from his body until she was forced back onto the loo floor, back resting against the wall.

Instead of speaking, however, the Doctor merely handed her a glass of water, which she gulped down gratefully. The TARDIS water tasted marvelous and had the added bonus of thoroughly cleaning the nasty taste out of her mouth. She'd missed that; water on Earth just didn't taste the same. He could bottle this stuff and sell it, make a fortune…

She was trying to distract herself. Stupid. How could she think anything like that would work? Tegan stared miserably down at her hands. How could she face him, any of him, but most of all _this_ him? How could any of them possibly want to ever look at her again? How could he be trying to comfort her when she'd brought so much pain and misery on them?

"Stop that."

The irritable command forced her head up out of sheer surprise; she met the Doctor's eyes, her own red and puffy from weeping, his crinkling at the corners as he…_smiled_ at her?

"Yes, I rather thought that would do it," he said as he sat back on his heels and allowed the smile to fade beneath a more serious expression. "Tegan, I only want to have to tell you this once, but I suspect you will have to hear it from each and every one of my selves: This isn't your fault. None of it. So stop blaming yourself."

She started to drop her eyes, to turn her head away, but he reached out and placed both hands on her face, gently rubbing his thumbs against her cheeks but holding her firmly in place at the same time. "Tegan, I mean it. None of it is your fault. You did nothing wrong…"

"Except let the Valeyard use me to hurt you!" she exclaimed, wrenching her head out of his grasp and tugging with agitated hands at her hair. "I let him trick me into thinking he was you, I walked through that bloody membrane all on my own and left myself vulnerable to him, let him use me…" Her throat closed up at what she was about to say, but forced the words past the knot with painful insistence. "I let him…touch me. Use me. And I used you all the same way, infected you with those nanobot things, I don't know how you can even stand to _look_ at me…"

He leaned forward, cutting off her words with a kiss. Not a passionate kiss, but certainly not a chaste one, mouths closed but the firmness of his lips conveying a message she could read loud and clear even through the paralyzing cloud of doubt and fear and self-loathing that cloaked her mind. "I'm only going to say this one more time: _none of those things were your fault_." He grimaced. "If anyone's to blame in all this, it's me."

Tegan felt her eyes widen in disbelief. "What? No, of course it isn't! It's the Valeyard's fault, not yours!"

Why did that make him grin in such a satisfied manner? Oh, of course, she'd just turned her own arguments against herself. She felt an answering smile trembling on her lips and allowed it to settle there as she reached up and stroked her fingers through the Doctor's soft blonde hair. "Thank you. I think…maybe I can believe that, now."

He lifted her other hand to his lips and pressed a kiss on her knuckles. "Good," he said as he started to lever himself to his feet, gently but insistently bringing her up with him. "Now, let's go say good-bye to all my other selves, shall we? Even Raljas' oversized Console Room feels a bit crowded with all of me about."

"Raljas – how did you know about him? Do you know what happened to him?" Tegan asked, a question she should have addressed immediately instead of indulging herself in a stupid emotional meltdown.

"We knew about him through the TARDIS database as well as a DNA analysis of the Valeyard," he replied, lacing her fingers through his as he tugged her toward the door. "And if you don't mind, Tegan, I'd really rather not continue this conversation in the same place where the TARDIS processes urine samples." He grinned to show he was joking – mostly – and Tegan willingly acquiesced, following quietly as she braced herself against seeing the rest of his selves.

The medical bay was empty. When she gave the Doctor a questioning look, he shrugged. "If the Console Room feels overcrowded with multiple me's about, think how cramped it was in here! I sent them off until you were ready to face us again."

She ducked her head, feeling a lingering sense of shame in her part in this situation, but he pressed a finger under her chin and brought her face up to meet his gaze. His expression was stern as he said: "No more of that, Tegan. Not one of us blames you, I promise."

She nodded and drew a shaky breath. "Well, I guess it's back to the Console Room, then. Will you tell me about Raljas on the way, or do I have to wait and hear it from all of you at once?"

"Brave heart, Tegan, I'm nowhere near inhuman enough to subject you to a lecture by me and ten of my other selves," he said with a grin. "But before I begin, perhaps you wouldn't mind telling me what happened while you were unconscious, hmm?"

She nodded, unconsciously gripping his hand tighter as she told him about waking up inside what she thought was his TARDIS Console Room and seeing who she thought was him waiting for her. Explained how Raljas had appeared, how he'd convinced her of his identity and helped her find a way to fight the Valeyard off when he attempted to overpower her and take over her body the way he'd already taken over the body of the Fourth Librarian-Assistant to the Under-Secretary to the Keeper of the Matrix.

The very least she owed that man was to retain his mouthful of a title in her memory.

The Doctor listened carefully, nodding once or twice, his face turning grim as she haltingly described the Valeyard's attempts to seduce her into lowering her guard. "We owe Raljas a debt of gratitude," was his only comment as she finished speaking.

"Do I have to explain all that again?" Tegan asked, feeling a bit daunted at the prospect of arriving at their destination.

The Doctor released his grip on her hand only to slide his arm across her shoulders and give a comforting squeeze. "No, I'll share it with them telepathically, if you don't mind. It'll be much faster and spare you the pain of having to relive it yet again. I'm sorry you had to do so in the first place," he added softly, stopping and turning her to face him as he cupped her face in his hand and pressed another kiss to her lips. "But in order to answer your question about what happened to Raljas, I needed to know."

She nodded her understanding as they resumed walking. It couldn't be much farther, and when she said as much the Doctor told her she was right. "I chose to take the long way back, if you will, to give you more time before you're bombarded by that lot." He frowned as he said it, and Tegan wondered why it was that none of the Doctor's selves seemed to like each other very much. But she kept the question to herself, instead pressing him for an answer to her earlier question: "Now that you know what happened inside my head, Doc, can you tell me what happened to Raljas? Is he…gone?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so," he replied, just as they reached the entrance to the Console Room. "Judging by what you've told me, I suspect he merged his essence with the Valeyard the way the Valeyard was trying to do to you, only instead of one mind emerging victorious, he did it in such a way that both were destroyed. He sacrificed himself to save you…but please don't take that as something else to feel guilty about. It was his decision, and there was no way for him to return to his own body because of the bioneural telesthetic inhibiting membrane. Only the Valeyard could enter and leave with impunity."

She shivered. "Horrible," she whispered, feeling a tear slip down her cheek, one that had nothing to do with self-pity and so wasn't to simply be wiped away. "I wish he hadn't had to do that…"

The Doctor had returned to holding her hand, and she felt him give it a sympathetic squeeze. "As do I. Ah, here we are then." He kept her hand firmly in his as he surveyed the gathered mass of past and future selves. "Ready for an update, are we?"

"Ready and rather impatiently waiting," his first self snapped, then softened both tone and expression as he shifted his gaze to Tegan. "Terribly sorry, my dear. I didn't mean to imply you were keeping us."

She shook her head and smiled, although she could feel the trembling in her lips as she forced herself to meet his eyes. She'd been his first…and if he'd known her real reason for wanting to sleep with him…how much must he hate her now? Did Eight feel like she'd driven him to the desperate measures that he used to end the Time War, did Nine blame her? Was Ten comparing her to his precious, lost Rose and finding her wanting, regretting how he'd shared his name with her?

"Stop it, Tegan. It's all right."

That wasn't her Doctor this time, reading her panicky thoughts, it was Seven, striding up to where she'd frozen in place, taking both her hands in his and squeezing them to get her attention. Five had stepped to the side, giving them room, and Tegan missed his comforting presence even as she forced herself to meet Seven's gaze.

His eyes were steady on hers, warm and radiating nothing but compassion as he said: "He's already told you, hasn't he? That you've done nothing wrong?"

She managed a tiny nod, feeling the tightness in her chest that she hadn't noticed before, too busy with her racing thoughts to notice how her body was reacting to those thoughts. But she was noticing now: her hands were trembling and ice cold, especially against the warmth of Seven's enveloping grip; her heart was pounding, her breathing labored, and she wondered vaguely if this was what a panic attack felt like.

But Seven gave her no time to dive back into her own mind, tugging on her hands and urging her down the sloping ramp that led from the door to the main floor of the Valeyard's – no, no, not his, Raljas' TARDIS. "Come on, Tegan, you're safe, you know it. The Valeyard is dead – " He gave his fifth self a sharp look. "Isn't he?"

"Yes. Both he and Raljas, Fourth Librarian-Assistant to the Under-Secretary to the Keeper of the Matrix, are dead. And if you could all close your eyes and focus, I will share what Tegan has told me."

"You're not to blame in any of this, and whatever happened between you and my other selves," Seven said, speaking softly, for her ears only, "as my predecessor no doubt already told you, there are no regrets for any of it, except that you were forced into it against your will." Then his eyes closed and his grip on her hand relaxed as he entered into mental communion with his other selves.

Tegan took the opportunity to dart her eyes around the room, to make herself look at the eleven men gathered together in the Console Room. She'd been told by two of them she wasn't to blame, and it was actually getting easier to believe the more she heard it. She'd fought against the Valeyard's hold on her mind, and even though she'd lost, she'd never just gone along with what he wanted – well, unless it was what she wanted as well.

Such as sharing herself with the Doctor's many selves. Her eyes sought out Nine; had she given him some peace from the pain he'd been enduring in the aftermath of the Time War? Had her influence on Eight given him the strength he needed to do what he needed to do?

Was her being his first a cherished memory for One?

It was certainly a cherished memory for her, even if it would always be tainted by the Valeyard's part in it. She wished suddenly for there to be some way to erase those memories; not of being with the Doctor's lovely selves, but of the reason behind it all.

Could they delete her memories of the Valeyard from her mind the way Raljas had deleted his invading presence?

She turned her head to study her Doctor, Five, as he communicated her story to his other selves. His eyes were closed, his hands open and limp by his sides, not tucked into his pockets as they generally were when he was at rest, and she felt her heart surge with affection. He wouldn't lie just to try and make her feel better. None of them would. And if he said she'd done nothing that required forgiveness…well, who was she to argue?

The Doctor's eyes popped open, and his lips curled up in a smile as he caught her studying him. She blushed a little, then smiled back at him, nothing tentative about it as she turned to face the others.

Seven was still right in front of her, and she reached out and gave him a heartfelt hug, feeling his arms returning the embrace as she whispered: "Thank you."

She stepped around him and gazed at the rest. "Thank you all," she said, putting as much sincerity into her voice as she felt – and still feeling like it wasn't nearly enough. "It's been…I didn't…"

"We know, don't dwell on it, my dear," One advised, but his eyes were twinkling and she simply smiled at him instead of trying to say whatever it was her dazed mind was trying to say. They understood, they forgave – no, better, they found nothing to forgive.

It was like sunshine on her soul, knowing that was true of all of them.

"Anyway, it's over now." That was Ten, speaking firmly, confidently and, for once, concisely. "You're safe, the Valeyard's destroyed, and we can get back to our own timelines again."

Tegan nodded, then caught her lower lip between her teeth as she realized there was a question that had been at the back of her mind ever since they first appeared en masse. "How did you get here, anyway? It was like…" she hesitated, groping for the right words. "It was like you all just sort of…showed up out of nowhere."

"Not out of nowhere," Five objected. "I was the anchor, if you like. They needed me to get here…and I needed you," he added with a smile for her and her alone that curled her toes and made her want to drag him off to the nearest private room for some "quality time".

"Fine, they needed you, but how?" she asked when she could speak again, although it was a fight not to just stare dreamily into his eyes. "How did they — how did you all get here?"

"Think of a prism," Eleven advised. "It refracts a beam of white light into its constituent colors. Separates them out, if you will. Well that's what...actually, no, it's nothing like that. Forget the prism."

"No, don't forget the prism, it's brilliant, exactly the right thing!" That was Two, elbowing his future self aside with a scornful glance before peering into Tegan's eyes. "We are all one Doctor along the same temporal continuum; each exists, one after the other, and none can exist without the ones before him, you see that, yes? The way a man can't exist without first having been an adolescent, a child, an infant?"

"And we know which ones are the infants," Eleven muttered with a pointed glare at Two.

The Doctor's second self did a magnificent job of ignoring him, keeping his attention trained on Tegan. "Because we exist simultaneously and at the same time along a continuum, it is both incredibly difficult for us all to be in the same place at the same time…and yet, incredibly easy."

Tegan gave him her best blank stare. "Sure, that helps," she deadpanned.

Someone gave a snort of laughter, quickly stifled; most likely Six, by the sound of it, although she couldn't be sure. She turned to Five and stretched out her hand to him beseechingly. "Can you explain it any better, Doc?"

He took the few steps he needed to reach her side, clasping her hand in his and giving his past and future selves and exasperated look as he did so. "I believe it would be easier for Tegan to understand if we weren't all trying to explain it to her at the same time," he announced. "So, if you don't mind…" He made shooing motions with his hands. "Off you go, back to your own time streams."

"Bossy, isn't he," One muttered sotto voce to Four.

"Yes, rather," Four agreed in a normal tone of voice.

Tegan squeezed Five's hand warningly; he gave her a hurt look in response, as if he hadn't been just about to get into an indignant shouting match with his other selves. "Thank you all for coming," Tegan said loudly, then fell into a fit of the giggles as she realized how ridiculous she sounded. Like a hostess at a fancy dinner party about to introduce the guest of honor…or usher her guests out the door when the wine had all gone.

Two was in front of her in two bounds, elbowing Seven aside as he beamed affectionately at her and, ignoring Five's frown, leaned in to offer her a resounding kiss good-bye. "It was our pleasure," he said, and from the nods and murmurs of agreement from the others, this was definitely one time everyone was willing to let him speak for the rest of them. "Wouldn't have missed it for the world. Anytime you need us, just call, hmm? On that cellular device Ten slipped into your pocket when he thought the rest of us weren't looking?"

Cellular…what? Tegan put her hand into her pocket and felt a slim rectangle of plastic weighing it down, but didn't bother pulling it out. It must be some kind of mobile telephone, judging by what Two had just said, and she shot a questioning look Ten's way.

He pursed his lips and looked toward the ceiling, hands behind his back, attempting nonchalance and either failing badly or deliberately failing badly. Tegan didn't know him well enough to tell, but what difference did it make? She simply blushed and nodded, taking Two into a one-armed hug since Five was still holding firmly to her other hand.

After the others had taken their leave as well (and Five's expression had gotten darker and darker with each kiss she received), they moved into a half-circle surrounding the two of them. When each stood about an arm's length from the his neighbors, they turned their respective glances toward the one remaining Doctor, who nodded, closed his eyes, and let go Tegan's hand.

As his hands dropped to his sides, the others mirrored his movements, their eyes also closing. A sound that wasn't quite a hum and wasn't quite…something else Tegan had no way to described filled the interior of the Console Room. As the hum/vibration/ indescribable sound rose in pitch and volume, Tegan covered her ears.

Then, with a dazzling burst of multi-colored light, the Doctor's other selves were gone.

Tegan blinked and looked around the now-empty console room, then returned her gaze to the Doctor. But only for a moment; he was blazing with white light, too bright to look at but not bright enough to do permanent damage.

At least, Tegan certainly hoped not. She'd spent enough time with the medical bots on her prison planet clucking over the injuries she'd inflicted on herself—and those the Valeyard had been responsible for.

"It's all right, Tegan, you can open your eyes now."

She did so slowly, suspiciously, blinking away the tears that the Doctor's imitation of a living torch had caused. "Cripes, Doc, you could warn a girl!" she scolded as she reached up to wipe away the remaining tears.

With a flourish the Doctor produced a crisp white linen handkerchief and set to work where the backs of Tegan's hands had had little effect. "You'll be fine," he said briskly, but his hands were gentle and she forgave him his tone. At least this time the tears were entirely involuntary, a physical pain reaction rather than an emotional one.

"So now what?" Tegan asked when he'd finished his ministrations and whisked the handkerchief back into his breast pocket.

"Now it's time to get you home," he replied absently, his attention obviously busy cataloguing the Console Room they currently occupied, so different than his own. Was that jealousy she saw, or disapproval? Hard to tell when he wouldn't stand still and let her gaze soulfully into his eyes.

Tegan gave herself a shake and a derisive snort. She was finally free of the Mara's curse and the Valeyard all at once, and all she could think about was how she'd like to give the Doctor a good snog.

Hell, why not? She tugged on his arm, making sure she had his full attention before pressing her body against his and bringing his head down for a very satisfactory kiss. "Or, we could wait a while," he said, somewhat breathlessly, when the kiss ended.

"I'd like to see your TARDIS again, Doc," Tegan said as she played with the lapels of his coat. "For real this time." She smiled seductively. "We could christen the console…"

Her smile turned smug as he swallowed and stared at her, wide-eyed and with a great deal of interest lurking behind the scandalized expression on his face.

"Perhaps," he began, then cleared his throat as his voice gave a definite squeak. "Perhaps," he tried again, "we should just fetch your things first."

She shook her head. "No, there's nothing I…oh, wait," she interrupted herself as she remembered that yes, there were one or two things she wanted to keep – the photos One had taken of her, the "Rogue's Gallery" Eleven had given her, perhaps one or two pairs of shoes... "Yeah, that's fine." She gave him an innocent look. "And afterwards, your TARDIS?"

He took her into his arms for a very satisfying kiss and answered without answering by saying: "Let's go, shall we?"

She smiled in agreement, allowing him to tuck her arm into his, then hesitated and looked around the Console Room. "What's going to happen to Raljas' TARDIS now?"

"I engaged her homing beacon to take her home where the Time Lords will deal with her," the Doctor replied. "It activates as soon as you and I leave. Shall we?"

Tegan nodded, started to turn her head to his, then gave another, more measuring look around the Console Room.

Something was different, and it didn't take long for her to figure it out.

The pile of bedding the Valeyard had created, where he'd subjected her to her first humiliation – where he'd first raped her, she corrected herself with a shudder – was gone.

Not just gone; as she craned her head she saw that there was what appeared to be a fine layer of ash covering multiple scorch marks on the TARDIS floor.

She turned to face the Doctor with tears gathering once again in the corners of her eyes, speechless for once out of love and gratitude. He met her gaze unflinchingly, and she knew what she'd been looking at as he raised her hand to his lips and kissed the knuckles, each one, maintaining eye contact the entire time.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Then they turned and walked away from the Valeyard's stolen TARDIS for the last time.


	18. Homeward Bound

_A/N: Well, here it is. The final chapter in this multi-era saga. Be nice and leave a review; first one to do so gets a preview of the new Who story I'm working on! And a cookie! (OK, a VIRTUAL cookie, but still...it's chocolae chip!) Thanks as always to Moonmama, my indefatigable beta. Check out her current "Gilmore Girls" story, "The Third Option." Now, go! :)_

**Part Seventeen: Homeward Bound**

Tegan regarded the Doctor's Console Room with a fondness she hadn't expected, considering that her last memories of being there – rather, of "being there" – could be characterized as unpleasant at best.

Then again, it would forever remain the room where the Valeyard died, so perhaps the fondness wasn't so unexpected after all.

Her eyes strayed to the last spot she'd seen him, crumpled into a heap near the interior door. Her fists clenched as she allowed herself to relive the memory, the triumph and shock she'd felt at having actually dealt him a blow. He'd been weakened in that moment, and Raljas had then…done what? She still wasn't sure, but she knew it ended with both of them gone from her mind.

"Where?"

That was the Doctor, slipping his arms around her from behind and resting his head on her shoulder, following the line of her gaze. "Right there," she said, her voice shaky. "I pushed him off me. He flew across the room and slammed into the wall and fell to the floor. I started to go to him, to see if he was really unconscious or just faking it, when suddenly I felt like I was going to pass out. Then Raljas was there, telling me it was going to be all right, and then they were both just…gone."

He lifted his head from her shoulder but only to press a kiss to her cheek. "Gone forever, Tegan. I promise. Raljas sacrificed himself to save you, and for that he will be forever venerated in my memory." He hesitated before adding, "I included an explanation of what happened in the other TARDIS' databanks." Feeling her stiffen in his arms, knowing what she must be thinking, he continued softly: "Don't worry. I didn't include specific details as to how the Valeyard…as to what he made you do. I just felt it was important for them to know about Raljas, that he didn't just steal a TARDIS and run off renegade."

"Thanks." She was never going to stop finding things to thank him for, just as she was never going to stop finding ways to blame herself, in spite of the Doctor's forgiveness and insistence that there was no need of such. Still, she buried her feelings deep inside, to be taken out sometime later and examined – most likely with the help of a UNIT shrink once she was back on Earth.

But not now. Not with the Doctor's arms around her, not with him holding her, supporting her emotionally as well as physically. Right now was all about savoring the moment, and in that spirit she leaned her head back against the Doctor's shoulder and closed her eyes. The Valeyard was dead and gone and never going to hurt her again, never going to make her do anything against her will again.

If only she could really, truly, deep-in-her-soul _believe_ that.

The Doctor's hold tightened as his hands slipped down to her waist, and Tegan forced a smile as she felt the lightest touch of his lips on the side of her neck. "Taking me up on my offer?" she asked without opening her eyes.

She felt his chuckle before she heard it and smiled – a real smile this time – in response. "Well, perhaps not in the Console Room," he allowed as he lifted his head and turned her to face him, placing his forehead against hers. "But I don't believe you've seen my private chambers…"

"Why, Doctor, are you inviting me to see your etchings?" she asked, giving in to the desire to stroke the soft, blonde hairs at the back of his neck.

"Why, Tegan, are you accusing me of having ulterior motives?" he responded, lips curved in a teasing smile, his own fingers reaching up to cradle her face as he leaned closer, brushing his nose against hers.

"You'd better have some, or I'm going to be very upset with you," she replied, leaning in and planting her mouth on his, nothing soft or delicate about it as she slid her tongue along his lips, coaxing his mouth open and letting her mind go blank for the duration of the kiss.

No one was forcing this one. No one was watching this. It was just the two of them, alone in the TARDIS.

When the kiss ended she discovered that her body was quite firmly pressed up against his, that his hands had wandered from her face to her buttocks, and that his erection was burning against her stomach like he wanted to brand her. Her own hands were still entwined in his hair, but she quickly rectified that by sliding them down his shoulders in order to grip him firmly by the biceps. "Etchings," she breathed, when she found the breath to do so.

"Etchings," he agreed, sounding as out of breath as she did.

With what felt like a great deal of reluctance he released his hold and stepped away from her. She slid her hand down his arm to join their fingers together, resting her other hand on his chest and her head on his shoulder as she did so. Maintaining as much contact as she could manage while they headed down the corridors to a destination she admitted to being very curious to see.

And the Doctor, it would appear, was just as anxious to show it to her, since he was moving at what could best be described as a brisk pace.

They were currently parked on the little planetoid she'd been exiled to for so long. It had been a short walk from Raljas' TARDIS to the house for her to fetch her things, and from there to the comforting familiarity of the Doctor's mad blue box.

The Valeyard, she remembered with an interior shudder, hadn't bothered to make his TARDIS look like the Doctor's, had left it a simple sandstone pyramid. When she'd asked, still believing he was the Doctor he was pretending to be, he'd made some airy comment about repairing the chameleon circuit ages ago and being tired of traveling in a police box after being forced to do so for so many regenerations.

And she'd believed him, swallowed the lie whole, too excited at the prospect of a cure for her Mara-induced condition to notice things that should have set off warning bells in her mind.

She felt herself slowing as they passed through a series of familiar corridors, and the interior shudder became quite physical as she recognized the hall leading to the TARDIS pool.

And the spa.

The Doctor came to a halt, peering at her questioningly through eyes gone a bit less blue and bit more gray with concern. "Tegan? What's wrong?"

She jutted her chin down the intersecting corridor. "I think…I think we should go there first. There's something else I need to face down." She didn't want to let the Valeyard back into her mind after working so hard to get rid of him, but this was something she knew she had to do.

There was nothing questioning about the Doctor's expression now, as his features morphed into anger. "He showed you that?" he demanded. "He made you experience that?"

Tegan forced herself to look up at him, although she'd pulled away from his embrace as a fresh wave of shame washed over her. "He made me experience all of it," she admitted, her voice low and haunted. Slowly, haltingly, she told of being forced to feel not only the Doctor's false emotions but those of Peri and Romana, and worst of all, how she'd experienced the death of the Doctor's twelfth self – and the Valeyard's "birth".

She didn't realize she was crying again until the Doctor brushed her tears away with his thumbs, leaning down and kissing her gently, patiently waiting until she moved her lips beneath his to return the kiss. "I'm sorry," she gasped out when the kiss ended. "I thought I could just ignore it all, since he's paid for his crimes, but I didn't realize how hard this was going to hit me…I'm sorry," she repeated in broken tones, her body wracked head to foot with deep shudders she could no more control than she could the tide.

Without a word the Doctor scooped her up in his arms, face grim as he carried her down the secondary corridor that led to the spa. She buried her face in his shoulder, unable to watch, knowing she had to confront the memory and the room where the memory had been created – falsely created, but still feeling real enough to hurt.

It was a pain that was so intensely emotional that she felt it physically, from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. Her stomach clenched as the Doctor carried her closer and closer, and she felt her whole body tensing, her hands digging into each other where she'd looped them around his neck, her breath shortening and her heartbeat increasing until she felt it pounding throughout her entire body.

The smell of chlorine alerted her before the Doctor's footsteps slowed to a stop. They'd reached the pool; the spa was in the next room.

Her body was shaking as the Doctor carefully lowered her to her feet. Tegan gripped his shoulders as she stood in front of him, eyes still tightly closed. She forced them open, looking up at him.

He was gazing down at her as well; as their eyes met, she gave a tiny, determined nod, in defiance of the continued shivering of her body, then forced herself to let go of his shoulders, linking the fingers of one hand with his as she turned to face the entrance to the spa room.

It was open. She could see the expanse of white tile continuing into that room from this one, the hooks on the wall meant for hanging towels or dressing gowns or inconvenient clothing. She forced herself to walk closer, right up to the door, the Doctor silent by her side, his fingers entwined with hers, his presence a comfort and a torture at the same time.

When they reached the doorway, she squeezed his fingers, then pulled her hand free. Taking a shaky breath, she took two steps into the room, legs quivering, and turned to face the other end of the room.

Remembering the not-real. Picturing it in her mind.

_She leans her head back against the padded edge of the sunken spa…_

Her heart hadn't slowed in its pounding; it seemed determined to beat its way out of her chest as she felt her lungs compress in remembered terror.

_The Doctor pounces, pinning her against the side of the spa, covering her lips in a much more demanding kiss. She struggles against him, pulling her face away with a gasp. "Doctor! Stop it!"_

Tegan brought her trembling fingers to her lips, to stifle the cry she could feel building in her throat as the memory – _fabricated_ memory, she struggled to remind herself – washed over her, battering her mind and emotions, nearly overwhelming as she continued to confront the room the Valeyard had used as her own personal torture chamber.

He'd made sure to show her every detail, every nuance of the false memory he'd constructed in order to torture himself into existence via the medium of the fifth Doctor's mind. He'd been careful to leave nothing out, not a single sense – the smell of the chlorine, the warmth of the bubbling water, the feel of the Doctor's lips and tongue against hers…and the pain of her throat as he choked her.

The even worse pain when he punched her in the head as she tried to flee him, the way he overpowered her, slammed her against the wall…a wave of blackness overcame her and she sank to the floor in a crouch, not hearing her gasping breaths, deep in the grip of the Valeyard's depraved vision.

She'd never felt so helpless and betrayed. Nothing the Valeyard had done to her had been worse than forcing her to live through that horrifying experience, the gut-wrenching period of time when she'd been forced to believe that the man she loved was nothing more than a cold-blooded, manipulative monster…

That he was exactly like his future self, the Valeyard, the one who'd really done such horrible things to her, more than once. The one who'd actually raped her, over and over again, ruthlessly using her body – and then had had the temerity, after forcing her to witness the filth and lies he'd placed into his past selves' minds, to try and entice her into giving him what he'd always been forced in the past to take from her.

_That_ is the real memory. Everything else…false, untrue, meant to make her doubt her feelings, doubt the Doctor, fear him, even.

And it was working. She couldn't bear to look at him, not in this room. She knew he was waiting for her, standing somewhere behind her, and her body tensed at the realization that she couldn't see him even though it was the last thing she wanted right now. What if he was creeping up behind her, ready to put his hands on her and…and…

_And what?_ the cold, clear voice of her conscience snapped at her. _This is the Doctor, not the Valeyard. He would never harm you, never. You _know_ that. Now _believe_ it._

She forced herself to turn. To face him. The Doctor. The real Doctor, not the cruel facsimile she'd had forced on her by the Valeyard.

He was standing in the doorway, hands tucked into his front trouser pockets. Studying her, face neutral, but she could see the concern in his eyes, the faint hint of a furrow between his eyebrows.

Concern for her. Real concern. Because that was who he was, the Doctor. He cared.

She loved him.

She felt a weight lifting from her soul, the weight the Valeyard had placed on her spirit with every evil, twisted thing he'd done to her body, every horrible thing he'd ever said to her, every false memory he'd forced her endure.

He was dead. The Doctor – all of him – had saved her. She would never face such a hideous situation again, ever.

She was here, on the TARDIS, with the man she loved, and even though she was going to leave him, return home to Earth and try to make a life for herself there, that didn't negate her feelings for the Doctor.

"I love you," she said as she continued to stare at him, to drink in the sight of him now that her burden of crippling memories had been lightened. Darkness couldn't last when exposed to the light, and she'd exposed the darkness in her mind to the light of reality.

She was free. Seconds later, she was in the Doctor's arms, kissing him deeply, pulling him close to her body and reveling in the sensation; the crisp scent of the celery on his collar, the softness of his hair as she ran her fingers through it, the taste of his lips and skin as she pressed her mouth to his.

"Are you all right?" he asked as she nestled her head against his throat.

She nodded, blinking away a few tears that had decided to gather in the corner of her eyes. "Indestructible, remember?"

There was a lingering tension in his body, she could feel it, and acknowledged that it was on her behalf. He was still murderously angry with the Valeyard for forcing her to participate in that final mind-fuck, for adding insult to injury – and for using _his_ image, the Doctor's fifth self, as a way to cause Tegan even deeper pain than she'd already endured. "It's over," she reminded him, proud that her voice wasn't trembling, that her body was no longer shaking and that the tears had been banished.

She leaned back in order to look him in the eyes. "It's over," she repeated firmly, running the tips of her fingers down the side of his face. "Now show me your etchings before I change my mind."

That startled a laugh out of him, but he said nothing else, simply tucked her beneath his arm as they left the spa room, then the pool room, and headed down the corridor that led away from both. A few turns, a few different levels, and suddenly they faced a corridor Tegan didn't recognize at all, the white roundels subtly shaded with gray, the lighting softer, and then they were confronting a door Tegan certainly had never seen before.

It was completely out of place in the impersonal, clean whiteness of the TARDIS, the heavy wooden door, rounded at the top with a sturdy brass handle and matching hinges as the only decoration. Of course it was the Doctor's private quarters; why shouldn't he have a unique look for the entrance to a place meant only for his own use?

She waited as the Doctor turned the handle and pushed the door open. When he turned to face her, once again with that anxious, questioning look in his eyes – _Are you sure? Are you ready for something like this?_ – she did her best to put his lingering fears to rest by smiling and nodding, reaching out to take his hand when he offered it, no hesitation in movement or expression as she allowed him to lead her into his private quarters.

The out-of-place-on-the-TARDIS door opened up into a sitting room; comfortable chairs in front of – a fireplace? Hmm, that was even more unexpected than the door. She arched an eyebrow at him and he smirked back. "I don't spend a great deal of time here, but when I do, I want to be comfortable. And really, there are few things in the Universe more comfortable than sitting in front of a blazing fire with a cup of tea at the end of a long day. Or week. Or year," he added reflectively.

He was still holding her hand. She liked that, liked the way he started showing her around, pride in his voice as he pointed out the sturdy wooden bookshelves containing his favorite pieces of literature throughout time and space; the antique Persian rugs scattered about the floor; the elaborately carved mahogany desk and matching chair. There were two other doors, the same style as the one they'd entered through, and he pointed to one (_bathroom, nothing exciting_) before leading her to the other and stopping in front of it.

"Bedroom?" she asked with a grin.

He nodded, suddenly bashful as he ducked his head and rubbed at his hair. "Again, not used very often, you know I don't need much in the way of sleep, but…" He hesitated, turned his face to hers and brushed his fingertips against her cheek. "I've never brought anyone here before. So even if we're not, ahem, christening the Console Room, I hope this will do instead."

One day, she decided in that instant, one day she would press him up against that hexagonal console of his and see how hard it would be to actually get his clothes off there.

Or not, another part of her mind scolded her. This trip is a one-off, remember? He's taking you back to Earth and leaving you there. He's got Peri waiting for him to come and pick her up…

Peri. She felt herself go cold at the memory of the other woman. Peri was traveling with Five.

Peri was also traveling with Six.

The Doctor's regeneration couldn't be too much farther into the future.

_Let it go, let it go,_ her mind chanted. _Not right now, save it for later, fall apart over that later. The Doctor's invited you to his private quarters for "ulterior motives" and you are not going to kill the mood yet again with your fears and insecurities._

Tegan knew herself to be very much a creature of emotion. She usually had a hard time reining them in.

This time, however, she managed with less effort than she'd expected, leaning forward and kissing the Doctor before he could ask what was wrong. Which he was going to do; she could see the questioning look in his eyes, the furrowed brow, the way his lips parted as the words fought their way free.

She felt the tightness of his fingers on her hand, the sudden tension from her own body radiating into his, and willed it all to go as she slid her tongue along his lips and moved closer to him, one hand firmly grasping the lapels of his coat in order to press herself tightly against him.

**oOo**

Something was still wrong with Tegan. He'd watched carefully as she faced down her demons, not once but twice – well, the same demon, twice. That last time in the spa room had been a touchy moment, certainly, but he believed she'd finally shed the last of the terror the Valeyard had brought on her when she confronted the place he'd chosen as their shared mental torture-chamber.

She'd been…lighter, her spirit buoyed by her determination. He'd always admired her fighting spirit, her determination not to give up no matter what, and had secretly fretted that the Valeyard might have dampened that spark.

For that and so much more the man deserved the fate he'd met. Complete and utter dissolution of body and, for lack of a better term, soul. Oh, it would be comforting to simply destroy his body if there was any certainty that his soul would immediately descend to the lowest pits of hell, but lacking that certainty he and his other selves had been unanimous in their desire to destroy him.

He would have been far more lenient if the Valeyard hadn't deliberately chosen to inflict himself on Tegan, to use her against him and the others, and, most heinous crime of all, the force her to endure the fabricated memory that still troubled him in spite of knowing it for what it was. Unreal. Deliberately crafted to inflict harm, to instill doubt and fear and shame.

None of which, he knew, were troubling Tegan now. No, it was something else, but her body language was telling him as clearly as a road sign that she wanted him to let it go.

And so he would, for now. But later…

With a jolt, he realized there would be no "later" for them. That this was it, this moment, this last trip in the TARDIS before he returned her to Earth. And although he toyed with the idea of "accidentally" landing them elsewhere, he recognized that wistful vision as nothing more than the selfish dream it was.

He would take Tegan home, but first, he would show her what he couldn't bring himself to tell her; how he felt about her, and always would.

She'd ended the kiss seconds ago, leaning her head on his shoulder, hands still tightly clutching the lapels of his coat. He slid his hands down her arms, resting them against her wrists passively until she uncurled her fingers from his jacket. He kissed the top of her head, then pulled back and shrugged the jacket from his shoulders, deliberately allowing it to drop to the floor.

Watching from beneath his eyelids, he just as deliberately pulled his jumper over his head and dropped it on top of the jacket.

A smile bloomed on Tegan's face as she watched him disrobing, and he felt a matching smile form on his own lips as she followed his lead. He'd dressed her in clothing he'd found in the other TARDISes wardrobe room, since her denim skirt and red blouse had shown unmistakable signs of the violence the Valeyard had done to her person.

That memory threatened to disturb the emotional equilibrium he'd been fighting so hard to maintain ever since his arrival on the other TARDIS. The sight of Tegan, battered, bruised, and bloody – her blouse in tatters, her denim skirt missing several buttons and ripped down the side seam – had literally caused him to see red. Only the sure knowledge that he needed to remain calm, to remain in place until his other selves could fully manifest, kept him from attacking the Valeyard then and there.

The revelation that the Valeyard had exerted a very insidious form of mental control over Tegan showed him just how right he'd been to keep himself under control. If he'd done as the most primal part of him wanted, if he'd attacked that bastard, the results would have been disastrous. He'd sunk telepathic hooks into her mind that one Time Lord alone could never hope to extricate; he'd have ripped away her mind, her memories, leaving nothing but a drooling vegetable where a vibrant, loving, tempestuous, spiky, thoroughly _alive_ young woman had been.

The same young woman who had moved back into his arms once they'd finished removing their clothing, the one he'd brought to his innermost sanctum, his private quarters on the TARDIS, the one place he'd never allowed another living being to see.

The one who needed him to remind her that she hadn't been irrevocably tainted by her experiences at the Valeyard's sadistic hands.

Oh, yes, that was exactly how she felt about herself, and he was determined to do whatever he could to show her the untruth of that belief.

With that in mind, he cradled her head in his hands, leaned his forehead against hers, and murmured: "Tegan, braveheart, ins'hara, I would literally do anything for this not to have happened to you. You believe that, don't you?"

"Yes," she replied, her voice just as low and nearly breathless. He felt her pulse speeding beneath his fingers and tilted her head up, lowering his lips to meet hers for a tender, loving kiss.

He put everything he couldn't say into that kiss, every emotion he couldn't express verbally, hoping desperately that it would be enough. _Show, don't tell_ didn't just apply to story writing, after all.

He pulled her snugly against him as he deepened the kiss, his hands traveling opposite paths over her back, one gliding down her hip to rest on the soft curve of her rear, the other making its way up to tangle in dark auburn masses of her hair at the back of her neck.

He kept his movements light, feathery, concerned that, in her present state of mind, anything rougher might bring up unwelcome memories.

He should have known better. Tegan made an annoyed huff and tilted her head back in order to meet his gaze. "Cripes, Doc, I'm not made of glass!"

Then she pulled his head down firmly, her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging at the blonde strands as she crushed her lips against his, tongue aggressively seeking entry against his lips. She pressed – no, _ground_ – her pelvis against his, hitching her left leg up against his so that her knee pressed firmly against his hip.

He automatically shifted his hand from her rear to her thigh, stabilizing them before Tegan's impulsive change in posture toppled them over.

Hmm. This position certainly held…possibilities.

Something of his thoughts must have shown in his eyes; as the kiss ended (the need to breathe dictating said end), Tegan pulled her face back to study him, a slow smile spreading across her features as she said "What?"

He answered without words, hoisting her up, encouraging her to wrap her legs around his waist, then walking swiftly to the nearest wall, pressing her against it and kissing her again. She squealed with pleasure as he angled their bodies so that he could easily penetrate her damp, welcoming core.

His Valeyard-fabricated self had raped her up against the TARDIS wall. His real self, the one she loved and who held her in such high regard –his ins'hara, his braved hearted lioness – wanted to wash that horrid memory away, to press into her and give her pleasure and…well, frankly, to use an Earth idiom, _make her come_.

Whether she understood his motivations or not, Tegan seemed more than content to allow him control over this aspect of their lovemaking. She locked her ankles behind his back once he'd completely slid into her, arms laced around his neck and an anticipatory smile hovering over her half-parted lips.

Then he thrust forward, pulling back and doing it again, harder this time, and the smile morphed into a gasp of pleasure (part one of his mission accomplished quite handily), and from there into a guttural moan that quickened his pulse and sent a shiver of purest pleasure through his body as he continued to move against and within her.

In spite of their unorthodox position and the very really probability that she would have a bruised backside and shoulders by morning, he could feel the increasing tension in her body indicating that he was about to achieve his goal, about to _make her come_, and felt a matching tension that had nothing to do with the anticipation of orgasm and everything to do with a ridiculous hope that she would call his name while doing so.

And when she did, it was enough to tip him over the edge, to send him spiraling over the precipice hard on her heels, and it was her name he gasped out as he climaxed.

**oOo**

They were lounging peacefully beneath the covers after having shared a quick spray in the shower. That very pleasurable moment had been followed by the Doctor instructing her to lie on her stomach while his hands worked a soothing rub of something he assured her would take care of the ache that was just beginning in her back and buttocks. That in turn had led to another bout of lovemaking (after he'd once again demonstrated the positively _sinful_ uses he'd learned for his tongue) and now Tegan was half asleep, nestled comfortably in his arms, when a thought nudged her. It was something she'd meant to ask but had forgotten about in all the angst and excitement that followed hard on the heels of her return to the Doctor's TARDIS. "Doctor," she murmured.

"Hmm?"

She smiled to herself as she felt his arms tighten around her just the slightest bit. "You said something, a little while ago," she said, snuggling closer in his embrace, feeling the warmth of his leg where it covered hers and reveling in the sensation.

He nuzzled her neck just below her ear. "I said a lot of things, Tegan. Which specific thing is it you're asking about?"

"There was a word, you said it twice…inshara?" she hazarded, knowing she'd got it wrong but also knowing he'd be able to correct her. Unless, of course, she'd gotten it so wrong he didn't recognize it at all…

"Actually, it's pronounced 'ins'hara,'" he corrected her gently as he continued to press his lips to her neck. "There's no exact translation into English, but the closest would be 'dear heart'."

Dear heart. She liked the sound of that, and told him so by turning in his embrace and pressing her lips to his in a gentle kiss. "Gallifreyan?" she asked, confident in her guess.

"Old High Gallifreyan, to be exact," he confirmed, wrinkling his nose. "The modern tongue doesn't exactly lend itself to endearments."

They fell silent for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts, until Tegan broke the silence with a question that had nothing to do with what they'd just been speaking about. "There's something I was wondering – how, exactly, did you find me, locked up in that other TARDIS, with all of space and time to search?"

"I came here," he replied. "I knew he'd used you against us – against your will…" His lips tightened, eyes lowered in a glower Tegan knew was on her account, then inhaled sharply, seemed to deliberately ease the sudden tension from his body by an act of will, and went on with his explanation. "I came here, but he'd already taken you and left. Dematerialized, vanished into the Vortex. But as I was casting about for a way to track you, you managed to help." He grinned and gave her a playful tap on the nose, mood lightened in that mercurial way he had.

"But how?" Tegan had been rather hoping for an explanation that wouldn't make her dizzy, but of course this was the Doctor, and as usual, nothing made much sense.

"It was my name," he said simply, the smile lingering on his lips as he gazed into her eyes, blue eyes meeting brown. "Somehow I — we — 'heard' you when you called it aloud." Tegan lowered her gaze uncomfortably, hoping that the fact that she'd virtually screamed it during a moment of forced passion was still her secret.

If the Doctor noticed her sudden discomfort, he was good enough to pretend not to as he added: "I'm still not sure why we did hear you, but I'm assured there's a very good reason. One that I'm not to be privy to, apparently."

He sounded disgruntled, but then, he never did like being kept in the dark about anything, even if it was for his own good. Tegan would bet her last pair of knickers it had something to do with the Time War – it seemed the most likely thing that would need to be kept from him – but even though Nine had forced that information onto her shoulders, it wasn't something she'd ever tell her Doctor. If she thought there was something he could do about it, absolutely; but since that seemed impossible, she refused to burden him with the awful truth.

He carried enough awful truths with him to last a lifetime, they both did.

Instead she decided to venture into an area that could be just as difficult for her to navigate. "Your tenth self, he's the one who gave it to me, your name, I mean," she said. "I hope – I mean, of course you don't _mind_, I know that, but I hope he didn't, I dunno, jump the gun by telling me. Before you could," she added by way of unnecessary clarification.

"Tegan, I'm glad he told you. To be honest, it simply never occurred to me to give it you myself," he confessed, somewhat abashed by his thoughtlessness. "But if you'd ever asked, I would have told you," he rushed to add in obvious reassurance. "Without hesitation."

"Oh, I knew that," she replied, hoping she sounded confident and not in need of that reassurance. Because of course she'd known no such thing, but he was right; she'd never asked. Not once.

She didn't need to. Oh, it was lovely holding such a precious secret to her heart – and she knew it was, indeed, a secret, that very few other people were also in on – but knowing his name, the one he'd discarded so many long centuries ago, didn't change anything. He was the Doctor, and that was all anyone ever needed to know about him, whether they loved him or hated him.

And she most definitely loved him, would always love him, no matter if she never saw him again after she left his TARDIS or if he visited for tea every Sunday.

She'd promised him that, once upon a time; reassured him that her feelings for him would – _could_ – never change no matter how things ended between them.

But that wasn't _now_, that was _in the near future_ and she was quite content to linger in the now for as long as she could.

She leaned over and nuzzled his neck, at the especially sensitive spot she'd discovered just under his left ear, one hand drifting down his body to rest against an even more sensitive spot as she whispered: "Make love to me, Doc." Then she breathed his name into his ear, loving the shiver that passed over his body as she did so, the way he turned so willingly and pressed his body on top of her and kissed her with a passion that thrilled her to the core and beyond.

This was their last, very last time together; it had to be, or else she'd never be able to force herself to leave, and she was determined to savor it.

Forever.

**The End**


End file.
